The Arrangement
by Mlle T-Rex
Summary: It's the end of the world and Glenn is questioning his sexuality. Unfortunately, Daryl is the only person he could possibly turn to for help. Daryl/Glenn
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! This is my first TWD fic. The pairing is Daryl/Glenn, and it features explicit male-on-male sexual content, beginning (and not ending) with this chapter. And swearing.**

**Also, I have just now decided I'm classifying this as a "post-apocalyptic rom-dramedy."**

**I don't spell out Daryl's accent phonetically. I don't feel it's necessary; I just use the most common things, like "wanna" and the "-in'" suffix. I have faith in your ability to just imagine the accent. :)**

**I have some more of this written already, but I make no promises on updates. I pretty much have the rest of the thing mapped out in my brain, I just haven't gotten around to putting it all to paper yet.**

**ALSO (I nearly forgot this part), I decided that everything past the barn opening didn't happen. This story heavily features Daryl and Glenn, and as such not many other characters show up, so it doesn't affect MUCH except for it's fall and they're still at Hershel's.**

**Okay. I think that's it! Please enjoy!**

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Glenn is confused, the first couple of times he looks over to find Daryl's eyes on him. Daryl always just makes a face, kind of pained, kind of apologetic and thoughtful, and turns back to whatever he's doing.

In hindsight, it's sickeningly obvious, but it isn't until Glenn catches him again that he puts the pieces together. It's early autumn, still warm enough that labor in the sun is uncomfortably sweaty. Glenn is stripping off his shirt to change. He glances over, pulling the new t-shirt over his head, and Daryl's eyes are on him, hovering somewhere around his middle. There's something _entirely _different in his gaze this time; Glenn only sees it for a split second before it's jerked away much faster than it ever was before. Still, he can tell—it's lust.

Daryl's—_attracted _to him?

It seems completely incongruous to everything he knows: Dixon is a redneck, racist hick, right? He's never _said _anything specifically about gay people, but Glenn cannot fathom a world in which Daryl _isn't _a homophobe.

Except—despite all the bluster in the beginning, the "Chinamans" and the stupid jokes—when Glenn thinks about it—he's not really sure Daryl is really that racist after all. Maybe the slurs were just something he said, a product of his upbringing and not something he ever meant or meant harm by. And if he isn't a racist, well then maybe…

Plus, there is absolutely no mistaking that facial expression he saw—slightly parted lips, hooded eyes, flushed cheeks.

Okay, so Daryl's gay. Or bi, or—pansexual? He thinks that's a thing nowadays.

Thing is, Glenn isn't any of those things. It's fine, if a bit unexpected, that Daryl is, really. Sometimes, okay, he does wonder, he does see other men, models in magazines or whatever, and he thinks, okay, maybe. And just that morning, _okay_, he did look at Daryl's muscles, covered in a sheen of sweat as he chopped wood, and he thought, "Daryl's a pretty handsome guy." But not, like—not in a _romantic_ or _sexual_ way. Just an observation.

And he likes women. He's kind of got an on-and-off thing with Maggie, and before the geeks he'd had a few girlfriends. He even was really serious with one of them. She moved in with him, but they broke up a few months later because—well, she was a cheating bitch. He feels a little numb about it now, but it really had _hurt _then.

But none of that is relevant.

The point is that Glenn is straight, and therefore Daryl just can't have him, and that is that.

He doesn't bring it up, because Daryl isn't really acting on it. And Glenn can't really blame him for having feelings, can he? And it's mostly fine, until they're both sent out on a supply run. Daryl is mostly there for backup; his crossbow, much as Glenn is currently loathe to admit, is both silent and brutally efficient. Glenn is already a little pissed off about this arrangement, preferring to go it alone in these situations. And Daryl keeps stealing little looks at him, and it's _so fucking stupid_ because the asshole is so preoccupied and he's going to get them both killed. Despite the fact that everything goes smoothly anyway, Glenn is still really fucking irritated, and on their way back he just snaps.

"_Look_," he says, halting in his tracks as he catches Daryl's eyes on him _again_. "This has to stop."

Daryl just squints at him, tensing up a little in what Glenn recognizes as the first, preemptive stirrings of anger, and he subsequently tries to forget how much stronger than him Daryl is.

"I've seen the way you look at me," he hisses through his teeth. "And you've got to stop it."

That goddamn hick doesn't even say anything, but he _does _look kind of bewildered, kind of lost or scared or something for a second before his face hardens again.

Glenn _should _just say that it's dangerous, getting distracted like that, because it's all he really means. But, inexplicably, what comes out of his mouth instead is, "I'm not _like _that, okay?"

"What," Daryl says suddenly, crowding into his personal space, but there's only a sharp undercurrent of anger in his face, his stance. "You think I'm gonna come after you or somethin'? Think I'm gonna try to force you or somethin'? You gonna kick my ass, _chink_?"

He spits out that last word like it's poison in his mouth, like he really _means _it. Glenn just gapes him, speechless. Daryl holds his ground, glaring steadily, his expression a combination of rage and… hurt.

A shuffling sound and the telltale snarling, growling of a Walker breaks them out of their sort of standoff. It's just one, dragging one of its feet behind it as it slowly comes at them, reaching with shredded arms. Daryl lifts his crossbow and shoots it neatly through the forehead before stalking forward and yanking the bolt out of its skull. He doesn't turn back, doesn't say a word, just keeps walking back toward camp. Glenn follows, feeling guilt sinking into his gut.

He decides he has to figure out why he _said _that. He spends the next two weeks thinking about it, letting his mind drift over to the subject whenever he finds himself with a spare moment.

At the end of those two weeks, Maggie pulled him aside—they needed to talk, apparently. About what, Glenn wasn't sure, because he hadn't really spoken to her much since—oh.

"I don't really think it's working out, Glenn," she tells him coldly, not giving him much of a chance to disagree. "I don't want to see you anymore, honestly, and you don't seem to be all that invested in me either. So."

He's… definitely okay with this. Aside from this being the end of the world and he doesn't really have many other prospects, it almost just doesn't affect him at all, which is strange. When they first got together, he was completely, completely smitten (though he didn't exactly enjoy using that word to describe himself). But over the past two weeks, he hadn't thought much about her at all. He'd been thinking, instead, about _Daryl._

Now that he thinks about it—he _has _been thinking about Daryl, like, a _lot_. About what he'd said to him and how he can make it right, of course, but—not just that. About how much he genuinely likes him and what he looks like when he smiles (which is rare) and how much he'd like that smile directed towards _him_. Starting with fixing the problem he'd caused. And how good of a guy he is.

And, occasionally, how good-looking he is. But—he can look at a guy and notice, objectively, that he's attractive without _being attracted _to him, or to men in general. He knows that, but…

Maybe that's just not the case. He's not so sure anymore. Maybe that's the whole reason he'd said that to Daryl—because he was trying to convince himself that it was true.

And the worst part of it is that now that he's got the question in his mind, he can't be sure of his own thoughts anymore. He thinks about everything too hard and so he can't know whether his reaction—an interest (a _slight _arousal, maybe) in Daryl's muscles when he glances over—are genuine.

But now that he thinks of it, that isn't actually the worst part. The worst part is, there's literally no one to talk to about this _except _Daryl. So, against his better judgment… he does.

Daryl's whittling himself new bolts for his crossbow when Glenn finds him. They're reasonably far from the farmhouse, and most everyone is inside or hanging around the house because it's started to get cold. Glenn is from Michigan, so he's happy with the change, not used to the sweltering heat of the summer. Daryl, he guesses, has not often had the luxury to just sit inside with the heater on and the fire going and food to eat to escape the cold.

Daryl looks up at him as he approaches and, once he sees who it is, his jaw sets tight and he looks back down to his work.

Glenn, still feeling like a giant shitbag, doesn't sit down. He stops a few feet away, fidgeting with his sleeve, and says, "I just… wanted to tell you I'm sorry. You didn't—I didn't mean what I said. I was in a bad mood because I couldn't go on my own, and—I could tell you were a bit—distracted—"

At this, Daryl scoffs. "Don't flatter yourself, kid."

Glenn is a little discouraged, but he continues after a pause. "My point is that you weren't making me uncomfortable, I was just upset. And—"

Here, he breaks off, looking down at his hands where he's clasped them in front of him. "I thought a lot about—why I said what I did. And I was wondering if I—if I could talk to you about what I… came up with."

Daryl stares at him incredulously for a moment. "What, you want a fuckin' heart-to-heart or somethin'?" His tone is patronizing, kind of, and it hurts Glenn's feelings a little. "I ain't exactly good at that shit. Go find someone else."

"Please." Glenn steps closer, holding his joined hands at his chin in desperation. "Daryl, there is no one else."

Daryl stops whittling, letting his hands fall limp, and he looks at the ground. His face looks _pained_, no other way to describe it, unfortunately, but after a while he says, begrudgingly, "Fine."

So Glenn sits down just where he is so they're facing each other.

"So, you're…"

Daryl narrows his eyes and answers, "_Gay_," as if he can't believe Glenn just asked him that. He shifts a little, looking self-conscious and uncomfortable. "I'm okay with it, but you don't just _come out _where I'm from. With my family. Folks get fuckin' killed for that kinda thing."

"I'm sorry," Glenn tells him, genuinely.

"It's just that… you're the second person I ever told who I wasn't plannin' on fuckin' and ditchin', okay? Told you I wasn't any good at this shit."

"I'll just talk, then, for a while," Glenn offers. "Maggie broke up with me yesterday. And… I didn't care at all. I _don't _care. I thought it was weird at first but then I realized—I've been spending _two weeks_ thinking about you. Since that day on the supply run. I didn't have any interest in the hot chick that was completely available and willing." He lets out a quiet huff that passes for a laugh. "What I'm trying to say is… all this is kind of making me… question myself. My sexuality."

Daryl squints at him a minute. "How old are you, kid?"

"Uh… Twenty-two?"

"Well, I don't exactly know how it works for everyone, but I figured it out when I was thirteen years old. Sure this ain't just somethin' you wanna try out for fun? Bein' gay ain't some kinda game."

"It's not like that!" Glenn cries, offended and aware that Daryl's offended, too. "I thought about it, and—my whole life, sex and love, it's never been that important to me. I feel like I was just going through the motions. And it's just now occurring to me that I might have just been looking in the wrong places."

Daryl doesn't reply, merely watches him suspiciously.

"Look, it's just, I don't know, an idea at this point. I don't know one way or the other. And you're the only one here, as far as I know, who could possibly help me out with this."

"Well, what in the hell do you want me to do?"

"I don't know, talk through this with me?"

"Already told you, I ain't no good at talkin'," Daryl grinds out, beginning to sound really pissy.

And then a lightbulb flicks on in Glenn's head.

"Wait—what if—I mean, it must be a long time since you've had any sex, right?"

This time, Daryl's silence is not because he's waiting for Glenn to continue. If the color of his face is any indication, his head is going to explode soon.

"Hear me out! I just mean… it might be beneficial for the both of us if… we made some kind of arrangement. I'd get hands-on experience, and, hopefully, and answer to my question, and you'd—we'd both—get laid."

Miraculously, Daryl appears to be considering it, but he still looks skeptical.

"You'd wanna have sex with me? Like, what, _sex-_sex?"

Glenn balks at that. He hadn't really thought that far. "Well, maybe we could… start slow."

"You wanna make this more'n a one-time thing?"

"I mean, we'll try something else first, something a little less—actual intercourse. And we'll see how it goes from there."

Daryl chuckles a little. "You're fuckin' crazy, Chinaman."

Glenn has never been so happy to hear that slur, because Daryl says it with… something like fondness, not the contempt he aimed at him that night half a month ago.

"_I _must be goddamn crazy. Alright, you got yourself a deal."

They sit there awkwardly for a second then, neither sure if they're supposed to just start right away or at some appointed time in the future or something. Glenn looks around; they're kind of out in the open.

Daryl notices him searching their surroundings and peers into the sky. "Light's still strong enough. Go tell someone you want me to teach you how to shoot the crossbow. We'll head into the woods. That is, if you… if you wanna do this now."

Glenn shoots to his feet, awkward and nervous. "Yeah. Yeah. I'll be right back."

When he returns, Daryl's standing with the crossbow slung over his back, new bolts in his fst, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Kay, let's go," Glenn prompts, and Daryl leads him away. They enter the cover of the trees and walk through the woods for about fifteen minutes before Daryl stops in a little clearing. Then, he turns, taking the crossbow from its spot on his back, takes a minute to load it, and holds it out for Glenn to take.

"What—what's this for?"

"Gotta make the story realistic, don't we? Point it at that tree over there."

Still bewildered, and kind of indignant, Glenn does so. Daryl leans in a little to adjust his grip. His proximity makes Glenn kind of dizzy.

"Looks like you're havin' some trouble holdin' it steady," Daryl murmurs, and he hesitates for a moment before moving to stand behind Glenn. His hands find Glenn's arms, just above the elbows, and his breath is on the skin behind his ear.

"There ya go. Make sure it's right up against your shoulder." He reaches out to release the safety, movements slow and sure. Once his hand is back on Glenn's arm, he says, "Now pull the trigger."

So Glenn does, and the recoil surprises him, but Daryl is close enough behind him that he keeps Glenn's body immobile. The bolt plants firmly into the trunk of the tree across the clearing.

Neither man moves.

"Good job," Daryl says, even though he did most of the work.

"Thanks."

Daryl's voice sounds strained when he says, "Just—one more time. Don't want the other getting' suspicious." The tension between them is such that they're forced to move slowly through it, like it's a physical entity surrounding them. After Glenn shoots again, and it lands just below the first shot, Daryl walks over to the tree to retrieve the bolts, his movements sluggish like he's in a dream. He returns wearing the exact expression that started this whole thing, that look of stunned lust. He takes the crossbow, makes sure the safety is on, and sets it down nearby with the bolts.

He steps forward and puts his hands on Glenn's belt buckle, looking Glenn straight in the eye.

"This okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

He leaves his hands on the buckle and takes a few steps forward, forcing Glenn to walk backwards until his back gently contacts the trunk of a tree. Then, finally, Daryl breaks through the spell and his fingers fly, pulling the belt out of its loops and tossing it aside. He has the button undone and the zipper down in seconds.

And then he drops to his knees.

The cold air makes Glenn hiss as Daryl pulls his jeans and underwear down his thighs. He feels his erection bounce against Daryl's lips and he would be mortified, except for that Daryl takes him into his mouth a split second later—and Jesus _Christ_, he just keeps going, letting his tongue linger back to give soft sweeps around the head.

"Hngh," Glenn says. Daryl huffs a laugh around his cock and pulls back, teasingly slow, curling his hand around the base. Glenn is almost disappointed for a second, because obviously the hand means Daryl's not planning on taking him that deep again, but then that stupid, disgustingly talented mouth begins a fast rhythm, along with the fist around him, and that _tongue_. The tongue has a mind of its own.

Daryl is kind of a pro at this. Glenn's fingers are scrabbling against the tree bark until Daryl takes one of his hands and places it on his own head. So Glenn obliges happily, threading his fingers into the hair behind Daryl's ear and tugging softly. The _tongue_—it keeps tracing over the underside of his head, just the very top of it. And the perfection of the wet slide of Daryl's tightly pursed lips, the suction that's just _everywhere_, the lubricated glide of his rough-skinned hand.

Daryl starts making these muffled noises in the back of his throat that reverberate in the cavern of his mouth, vibrating his lips, and Glenn can feel those deep, throaty vibrations pulsing through his dick and it's almost too much. As it is, he's very, very close to coming.

"Uhn. Daryl," Glenn speaks over the noises. "Daryl, I'm close, I'm so close." He tugs half-heartedly at the hair clenched in his fist, but Daryl doesn't pull off of him.

Glenn bites down hard on the knuckles of his free hand as pleasure rips through him and he spills into Daryl's mouth. His hips are bucking, very slightly, when he comes, but Daryl takes it with no trouble, pulling off with a quick sweep of his tongue to make sure that Glenn's softening cock is clean. He sits back on his heels, watching Glenn as he pants against the tree, and reaches down to tuck his own dick back into his pants before wiping his hands on his thighs. There is a small pool of semen on the ground between his knees.

"You… didn't have to do that," Glenn tells him, gesturing toward Daryl's crotch. "I could have returned the favor."

"Nah, 'm not gonna make you do that. This ain't about me."

Well, Glenn figures, what's done is done.

Daryl gets to his feet, adjusting his pants, squinting thoughtfully over at him. "That answer your question?"

Glenn thinks about it. Sure, he'd been _really _aroused. But—

"No," he replies, leaning forward to place his hands tiredly on his knees.

"You kiddin' me?" Daryl near-shouts, offended. He lowers his voice to continue, "You seemed to like it well enough. Not only that, you couldn't fuckin' wait for it. You were practically _beggin_'."

"I don't mean that it wasn't _good_!" Glenn retorts, and it seems to placate Daryl a bit, though he still looks surly. "It was _great_. But I don't know if that means anything."

"And the way you felt beforehand? That mean anything?"

"I _felt_ like I was about to get a blowjob!"

Silence, except for their heavy breathing, descends. After a few moments, Daryl asks, "So what now?"

"We head back to camp, first thing," Glenn replies, moving away from the tree to stretch his arms above his head. "And after that… I guess we keep trying."

They head back in silence. Daryl's holding his crossbow in front of him, letting it point at the ground, tightening and loosening his grip in a fidgety sort of way. He's busying himself by watching the woods around them intently for signs of either walkers or dinner. He finds the latter, ends up bagging a couple of rabbits and a squirrel.

Carol and Patricia are on the porch shelling peas when they come up on the house and they cheer happily upon seeing the animals that are dangling from a length of rope in Daryl's hands.

"Did you catch these, Glenn?" Patricia asks, gesturing at them, her eyes wide.

"No, these were Daryl," Glenn tells her.

Daryl swings his catch over his shoulder, smirks teasingly over at Glenn, and says, "Little man's arms got too tired." Then he steps off the porch, making his way toward the fire pit and pulling a knife out of the sheath on his hip.

Glenn feels like he has to say something—to salvage his reputation, maybe, or to prevent the silence they're left in from becoming too awkward—so he says, stupidly, "I'm not that little." And oh, dear god, he's not really sure where that came from, and _why_, why did that have to be the thing that popped out of his mouth?

So he retreats into the house, ignoring Carol and Patricia's giggling as best he can.

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**Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! I'd like to thank my readers, those who favorited and alerted, and especially my reviewer, MinuteCloser2Failing! You are all very lovely.**

**I put a little backstory for both Glenn and Daryl in here. I made some of it up (the vast majority of Daryl's, really). For Glenn, I added in some of his comic backstory that hasn't come through into the series (yet? I'm not sure whether or not it will, so this may be uncanon). And I'm pretty sure Daryl's not gay in canon, so. So it's not all going to be _right_, is what I'm saying,but thankfully, this is fanfiction (speaking of which, I forgot the disclaimer last time. Don't own it!).**

**Also, there's some stuff about shooting crossbows in here that I learned entirely from the internet, so that might not be right, either.**

**I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter cutoff, but I kind of felt like I needed to do it here. And it's shorter than the first chapter. I hope you enjoy anyway! Please review when you're done reading; I'd love to hear from you. :)**

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It's another couple of days before their next encounter, but after that, it continues at a pretty steady rate. It's mostly them sneaking off and Daryl blowing Glenn, Daryl giving Glenn a handjob—and after about a week of this, Glenn is starting to think it's not working. Each time, it's just as frustrating as it is (fantastically) relieving—because it's not really telling him anything.

He thinks that, maybe, he has to start doing stuff to Daryl, too.

It's not that he didn't want to before; it's more like, Daryl always takes care of himself before Glenn has the chance to offer. It makes him feel ridiculously guilty, actually, but it's not as if he's leaving Daryl hanging or anything, so he lets it go those first few times.

But really—even though Daryl is really, _really _good at this stuff, Glenn needs something different. He's not… _necessarily_… doing this for the mind-blowing orgasms.

So, when they sneak off into the woods for what is maybe the seventh time, and Daryl's getting on his knees, Glenn stops him, pulls him back up. Daryl watches him, confused, but as he waits for an answer, his face falls in what Glenn thinks is disappointment.

"Look, I'm not ever going to figure anything out like this."

Daryl's eyes drop to the ground and he nods somberly, beginning to turn away.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Glenn grabs him by the shoulder and turns him back around to face him. He leaves his hand where it is, squeezing reassuringly. "That's not what I meant. What I mean is… you keep… finishing yourself off, and… well…" He really never was good at talking about sex, he remembers with a wince. "Just… let me, this time, okay?"

Daryl's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, and then after a few seconds, his shocked expression morphs into one more similar to discomfort.

"I mean—you don't have to, or anything," Glenn adds hastily, chest clenching in embarrassment. "Forget I said anything."

"Nah, wait—" Daryl interrupts. Glenn does, waits, watching Daryl's face as he thinks.

"Okay."

There's a bit of confusion as they both move towards each other, intending to make the first move.

"Let me," Daryl says finally, pressing gently against Glenn's shoulders until his back is against the tree, and then he sinks down onto his knees again and unzips Glenn's jeans.

His mouth is extraordinary as ever, warm and wet, and this time both of his hands are free, so one wraps around Glenn's dick as usual and the other comes up to cup his balls. And _that _just adds an extra later of amazing to the whole thing, the slow drag of the labor-roughened fingers on him, moving with a _softness _that Glenn never would have guessed Daryl capable of before all of this.

Glenn builds up slowly and gloriously to his finish, no longer as desperate as he'd been the first time, and Daryl swallows it all just as he normally does. Only this time, he remains on the ground afterwards, eyes closed and mouth open, panting. Glenn can see, when he glances down, that Daryl's erection is pressing against his pants in a way that looks awfully painful. Especially with the way his bent legs are stretching out the denim. It's practically outlined.

"Up," he commands, pulling at Daryl's shoulders. "Your turn."

It's—strange. Not good or bad, just strange. Glenn has never done anything remotely like this before, and he's far too focused on making it good, or at least not fucking it up completely, to be aroused by the situation. And there are far, far too many things to think about and take in. He took a human sexuality class in college, and he's received a good amount of blowjobs in his life, so he knows the technique, and his brain just keeps cycling through all the fifty billion things he has to remember—bob your head, keep your lips pursed, use your tongue (and don't forget that the head is generally the most sensitive area), use your hands to pump where your mouth can't reach and to play with the balls. Also, don't gag.

Daryl seems to be enjoying it well enough, in his subdued way. His fists are clenched hard at his sides and his posture's rigid, like he's forcing himself to keep still, and his face—Glenn can tell, even from his angle, how affected he is. His cheeks are stained red underneath the ever-present sheen of sweat, his eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open but closing every once in a while to swallow in between hard breaths. His head is thrown back against the trunk of the tree.

He smells musky, and when he comes into Glenn's mouth, Glenn is a little disconcerted by the flavor. Must be all the red meat. He swallows it down quickly, wondering if he tastes like that, too. Probably.

Daryl doesn't ask him if he's figured anything out yet, hasn't since that first time. Instead, he smiles awkwardly at Glenn and looks away to tuck himself back into his pants. The smile strikes Glenn as cute and kind of hilarious, inconsistent as it is with his hardass persona. He stifles a grin of his own, guessing it would be ill-received, and picks himself up, dusting off his knees.

"So," Daryl starts, clearing his throat. "The crossbow." He lifts it from its resting place on a nearby stump and hands it to Glenn, as he's taken to doing every time now, after they've gotten off. Glenn's having a much better time handling the thing now, even after only a week or so of practice, and since they're relieved and not totally distracted by each other like they were the first time, Daryl is a much better teacher and Glenn a faster learner.

Glenn grins broadly and takes the crossbow, along with the bolt Daryl holds out next, and loads the weapon just as Daryl showed him—place it on the ground, brace with your foot, pull back the string, and load the bolt in. He makes sure the safety is on—he's not going to click it off until he's really ready to shoot something because he really doesn't trust his own skill level yet.

"Alright," Daryl continues, voice becoming hushed. "Ya see over there, that rabbit?"

Glenn does—it's munching on some piece of vegetation it's found, far enough away to be relatively undisturbed by their presence.

"Think you can take it out?"

"I'll try," Glenn responds, lifting the bow and clicking off the safety, aiming at the rabbit. He wants to get the thing, to be the hero bringing his catch back to camp for once.

He pulls the trigger and misses. The bolt hits the ground next to the rabbit and it scampers off.

"_Damn _it," Glenn hisses, lowering the crossbow.

"S'alright," Daryl tells him, and Glenn thinks that's really easy for _him _to say, considering he hasn't missed a shot in all the time Glenn's known him.

Then a rustling begins in the bushes nearby, and an instant later comes the snarling of a walker. It emerges into the clearing moments later, stumbling and turning its head, seeking out food. Its gaze settles on them and the noises it's making become louder, more aggressive as it makes its way slowly toward them.

"Get it," Daryl says. His hand is resting almost casually on the knife in his belt, but he isn't pulling it out.

"What?"

"Better fuckin' hurry." Daryl's not taking his eyes off the walker as it comes. "Start loadin'."

So Glenn does, grabbing one of the bolts that's lying on the ground between them and loading it in, feeling terror flooding his body and spurring on his movements. He throws the crossbow up and fires, taking only a second to aim, but the damn thing is so close at this point it's nearly impossible to miss. It falls, ending up in a heap just a couple of yards from Glenn's feet. He stares at it incredulously. His bolt is sticking out of its forehead, just above its left eye.

"I wouldn't've let it getcha, y'know," Daryl starts after a few moments of silence.

Glenn thinks maybe Daryl's afraid he's going to be mad. So he pulls himself out of his stunned state and woops, laughing. Daryl looks floored by this, staring at him like he's grown a twin out of his body or something.

"I got it!"

Daryl, smiling a little in spite of himself, says, "Alright, alright, you tryin' to attract all its friends? C'mon, let's head back."

After that, they get to talking while they're at the farm, when there's no promise of anything sexual, just—hanging out. Glenn finds that he really enjoys Daryl's company. It takes him a little while to get him actually _talking_, which is frustrating but kind of expected. Glenn realizes after a while that his silence is less due to some sort of badass personality or a lack of desire to talk (because when he does get going he actually talks quite a bit, in a reluctant way, like he's built up all of this stuff over time that he wanted to say forever and it's all just coming out of him), and more—well—Daryl's actually shy.

Which is both adorable and… kind of sad. Because the more and more Glenn gets to know him, the more he sees how little Daryl thinks of himself—and the more he grows to just really _like _him. He's a good guy, actually, understanding, smart, and funny. Glenn tries to tell him so once and he blushes and vehemently denies is, seeming shocked by the notion.

Glenn tells Daryl about the girlfriend who cheated on him, surprised to look back and find that it hurts even _less _now, there's not even that numbness of before. He actually laughs about it a little bit. It's freeing. He tells him about college, about being unable to afford the tuition, his apartment, and food on the money he was earning delivering pizzas, about the seedier things he did in order to afford it all, culminating, ultimately, in stealing cars. Daryl asks why he didn't ask his parents for money, and Glenn answers honestly: he couldn't bear to. They had a falling out over Glenn's choice of school, major, girlfriend. He didn't want to rely on them. He still not sure they would have lent him the money. Not for the first time, he wonders how it all went down in Michigan.

Daryl just nods, and Glenn can tell he actually _understands_.

It takes a long time, but eventually Daryl tells him a little about _his _parents. His mother left when he was six years old, fed up with her drunk husband and her boys—one in juvy and the other only in the first grade and suspended from school for stealing. Daryl quietly admits that he'd only stolen the money because he didn't have his own lunch that day, and his parents had been out the night before and hadn't given him dinner. But the way he says it, Glenn can tell he doesn't even believe his own excuse anymore—because he's been told the lie that he's no good all his life and _that's _what he believes now. Daryl says his mama shouted as she was leaving, said to his daddy, _you and Merle done sunk your claws in 'im and made him just like you_. Glenn winces at that.

"You're not Merle," he says.

Daryl gives a tiny smile and nods, but he doesn't meet Glenn's eyes.

His father never had any qualms about beating on him, and he did, but most of the time he just ignored Daryl, too caught up in drunken oblivion to bother. Daryl learned pretty fucking quick to take care of his own damn self, whether by stealing, hunting, or cooking if he could find enough in the refrigerator to scrounge up a decent meal. He burned himself pretty badly a few times, especially the once when he spilled a pot of boiling water down his front, scalding him arms, stomach, and legs. When Merle came back, he'd found some substance to abuse much different than the alcohol their father guzzled, and it made him volatile rather than apathetic. To his credit, he actually gave a shit about Daryl, took care of him most of the time. He spent time with him, made sure he was fed, taught him things. But he often went into rages. At first, when Daryl was still pretty little, he'd only yell and knock shit over. But once Daryl got to be a decent size, could fight back, Merle'd hit him and it would degenerate into a fistfight, which would degenerate into a beating, as Daryl invariably lost to his tank of a brother.

But, Daryl makes sure to mention, that was only sometimes. Most of the time Merle took care of him. He owes a lot to Merle.

And though Glenn can't accept that the _abuse _was okay, because that's what it was, he can't exactly disagree with that, either. It seems as though Merle was all Daryl had.

One day, just after they've traded handjobs and done some additional crossbow training, and they're just sitting together in the usual clearing, Glenn asks, "So how did you figure out you were gay?"

Daryl doesn't answer right away, but his face is pensive instead of closed off or angry.

"I had a crush," he answers finally, then laughs. "Like a fuckin' schoolgirl. His name was Donnie or Devin or some shit. It was the whole damn nine yards. My heart would start beatin' real fast when I thought about him. Used to think about kissin' him behind the school. Dreamed about 'im a couple times." He flushes a little, and Glenn thinks he knows exactly the kind of dream he's talking about. He was never able to remember his own, but he always woke up with unfortunately sticky sheets.

"I was in denial for a couple years though. Tried to change. Eventually I realized that it wasn't gonna happen, that's who I was, and I was gonna have to make peace with it or I'd drive myself fuckin' crazy."

"Did you ever have a boyfriend?" Glenn asks, more tentative this time.

"One. Right after I decided to come to terms with it. When I was fifteen. I was in my first year of high school and he was a junior. Name was Ray. We kept it a secret but we'd hang out together, in the football field after everyone had gone home and we'd fool around. Or we'd go over to his house and lock ourselves in his room. His mom always thought we were smokin' or something." He huffs a little laugh. "I really liked him. I didn't know if I was ever gonna, like… fall in love with 'im or stay with 'im forever, but at that point, I still thought… I could find somebody. To… love." It sounds like it's difficult for him to get the word out. "Found out damn fast that wasn't ever gonna happen. I wasn't gonna abandon my kin so I could… I couldn't have them both. Wasn't hardly a choice."

"Merle's gone now," Glenn points out.

"Yeah, and it's the end of the fuckin' world," Daryl snaps back. "There ain't exactly _eligible bachelors_ around every fuckin' corner. You seen anyone like that around here?"

"Sorry." Something about the whole exchange gives Glenn a really weird feeling of unease, like his heart's being squeezed in his chest, though he can't pinpoint exactly why.

"Whatever," Daryl replies, surly, but after a few seconds, he finishes, "I gave up on all that a long time ago, anyway. Once I got old enough I started goin' to the bars in Atlanta every once in a while to pick someone up. Take the edge off. Usually tried to never learn their name."

"_You_ picked up _strangers _for _sex_?" Glenn teases, reaching over to poke Daryl's shoulder. "Do you have some secret charm hidden in there somewhere you've never shown me?"

Incredibly, Daryl smiles back. "Usually it was my arms that did the trick. Ain't needed any of that _charm _shit, just somethin' sleeveless." He flexes exaggeratedly despite the fact that he's actually wearing a long-sleeved shirt, and Glenn laughs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everybody! I _think _I'm getting a pretty good response to this story, but it's difficult to tell because this is a new fandom for me so I'm not entirely sure how active it's supposed to be. A huge THANK YOU to everyone who added this story to their alerts and favorites, as well as Ravenclaw Samurai for reviewing the second chapter, and even to every single one of you who reads and enjoys it! Seriously! You are all great.**

**This one might be shorter than the other two, but not, I think, by much. I ran out of previously-written story for this one pretty quick, so I wrote most of it this evening. I haven't had a chance to re-read any of it yet, but in the future I might edit it. ****I believe, after this, there will be only one or two (probably two) more chapters. **

**Finally, a warning for this chapter: Our heroes go ALL THE WAY in this one, and Glenn is on top (don't let that discourage you from reading if that's not your thing; it's for the plot. Top!Daryl is coming eventually!). I'm not super experienced with sex scenes, but hey, I was kind of going for a little awkward, so hopefully that worked in my favor. :)**

**Enjoy chapter three, and please let me know via review what you think! Or don't, if you don't want. I'm not your boss.**

**Edit 5/24: I just fixed the typos. There were a lot of them. I'm... kind of embarrassed.**

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They don't start heading back to camp until the sun filtering through the trees indicates that it's late afternoon already. Daryl tells Glenn to keep the crossbow on the way back to keep an eye out for dinner. Halfway there, he comes to a halt, throwing out his arm to stop Glenn. His eyes are trained down, moving along the ground.

"What is it?"

"Fresh tracks. A deer." He pauses, glancing up at the crossbow in Glenn's hands, then back at the ground. "Now listen. When we find it, you're gonna take it down. Try to kill it on the first shot—if not, you gotta at least wound it so we can follow it. You're gonna have to be real quiet though, don't wanna scare it off. None of that foot-stompin'." He finishes with an accusing look.

"What 'foot stompin'?" Glenn asks indignantly, but Daryl doesn't answer, instead forging ahead at a crouch so his footfalls are silent, beckoning him to follow.

It's not far from where they picked up its trail, and it's alone, grazing on a patch of grass. Daryl glances sidelong at Glenn and nods, so Glenn takes aim. He clicks off the safety, praying that the noise doesn't scare the thing away, and takes a deep, silent breath. He fingers the trigger, taking his time with the aim just as Daryl taught him.

The bolt lodges into the deer's skull, behind its ear, and it convulses and drops to the ground.

Glenn lets out a single bark of laughter before they're both up and running to their catch. They're actually a little closer to camp now than they were before, so they don't have far to lug the deer—it's still slow going, though, so when they finally stumble onto the farm with it and are greeted like heroes, they welcome the praise.

And then it's straight to work gutting it, which Daryl has unfortunately also taken upon himself to teach Glenn.

As they're eating, later, and Glenn's receiving constant admiration from everyone in the group, he looks over and sees Daryl watching him, trying (not hard) to conceal what can only be described as a grin as he chews his meat. Warmth spreads through Glenn's chest at the sight and he returns the gesture around a mouthful of venison. Somehow that smile means more to him than anything else their fellow survivors have said or done to thank him.

The next day they're out again, sitting together at the base of a strong, gnarled tree. They haven't delved right into the sexual favors this time, although they'll definitely get around to it soon, preferring for the moment to just sit, talking little and just enjoying each other's company.

The _real _problem, Glenn thinks, is that he can't just stop _thinking _and _feel_. Every time he blows Daryl, his brain is shouting instructions at him, and he just keeps asking himself, frantic, _how do I feel? How does this make me feel?_

He knows he needs to stop that, let himself _go_. But he doesn't know how. He's overthinking how to stop thinking. It's insanity. Maybe he needs to do something drastic.

So after he comes into Daryl's mouth, after they've both been satisfied, he asks, hesitantly, "Next time, do you think… we could… have _sex_?"

The way he says it, Daryl apparently doesn't have to ask what he means. He stiffens slightly.

"You really wanna?" He's sitting with his back against a big rock, facing Glenn as he sits against the usual tree, and their legs are tangled together a little. "You sure?"

"Yes, I want to. I'm having a lot of trouble figuring out—where my head is, what I feel. But I want to try this with you." There's a pause, and then he adds, "I still have six condoms."

Daryl snorts, bringing one knee up to rest his arm on it, his fingers fidgeting relentlessly with each other. "Alright," he says. "Tomorrow, bring one of your damn condoms. I got the rest."

Glenn's a little relieved to hear that, because he's unsure of how the whole thing works, exactly. The rest of the day, he's filled with a nervous energy, totally unable to sit still. He'd offer to take watch, not sure how much sleep he'll get, but he's so distracted it might literally cost lives. After they get back to the farm that day, he and Daryl don't really speak—not out of anything like anger or even awkwardness; it's just that Glenn at least just needs time to mentally prepare himself.

He manages a pretty decent sleep, and the nerves pick up fresh in the morning. He sneaks a condom into his back pocket and keeps it there all day, where it practically burns a new hole into his ass. He tries not to act any differently when he and Daryl finally head into the woods in the early afternoon. He has no idea if he succeeds.

When they get to their usual place, Daryl takes a deep breath in preparation to say something. It takes him a second to get it out even so, and Glenn is mildly surprised to find that _he _seems to be nervous, too.

"I already, uh…" He hesitates. "I already prepped…myself. I figured you'd want to be the one doing the, um." He makes a fist and pumps it forward, and even though it really should mean nothing Glenn knows exactly what it means. He's a little taken aback by this development, not having much thought about what he'd prefer. He's kind of relieved, though.

"Um, I mean, unless—you want to do it the other way. It don't matter. I brought the, uh—the lube." He digs into his pocket and fumbles with the bottle a bit before holding it out awkwardly.

"No, no, that's fine," Glenn insists, smiling to try to ease both of their nerves.

"Oh, okay." The lube goes back in Daryl's pocket. "Got the condom?"

Glenn pulls it out and holds it up to demonstrate his answer.

"Good, then. So, um." Daryl begins to unbuckle his belt, then deftly opens his jeans and works the zipper open. Glenn is caught up a little by the abruptness, so when he manages to snap himself out of it, Daryl's already turned around with his pants and underwear around his ankles, hands braced against a tree. The sight of his bare ass provokes something in Glenn, something that he can't quite place but that feels like both panic and arousal. He pushes his own jeans and shorts down, then takes hold of his cock, pumping it slowly to ensure he's hard enough. He can see the gleam of the lube smeared onto Daryl's skin—it's dripping down his legs a little bit, too. Daryl shifts, sticking his ass out a bit further, and those legs spread so Glenn can see between to the _entrance_, shiny and open.

Not wanting to keep Daryl exposed and waiting, Glenn hastily rips open the foil package and rolls the condom on. He positions himself behind Daryl, one hand gingerly placed on his hip and the other encircling the base of his own hard dick, moving it so the tip is pressed against, but not breaching, the entrance.

"Do I just…?"

"Yeah," Daryl breathes, pressing his forehead against the crook of his elbow.

So Glenn pushes in, slowly. The muscles around him clench, but don't protest, so he keeps going until he's practically buried. It feels great, much, much better than any sex he's ever had before, but that might have more to do with the nature of the channel he's pushed himself into than anything. It's _tight_, so tight, and hot in an insanely pleasurable way. He stops once he's as far in as he feels is prudent.

Daryl, body heaving with quick breaths, tells him in his gruff, but not unkind, way, "You can move, y'know."

"Just need to catch my breath," is Glenn's response. His knees are a little weak. He leans forward as if to rest his forehead against Daryl's back but stops as he realizes his baseball cap is still on. It seems wildly inappropriate. He swipes it off and leans back to an upright position as he pulls back, stopping in time to leave just the head inside. He's unable to stop the low groan that leaves him then and he pushes back in, a little harder this time.

It's so, so hard to resist the unforgiving pace that his libido is begging him to set, but he does. He doesn't know how Daryl likes it, so he figures he should go as vanilla as possible to keep everything in the range of _acceptable, _at least. He _does_, however, let his fingers curl tight around Daryl's hips, more forceful than is necessary, but _god_, when he starts to move in and out, it feels too amazing and maybe it really _is _necessary—he needs _something_ to dig his fingers into if he has to hold himself back.

Daryl pushes back against him, into the thrusts, panting and periodically hiding his face in his arm before dropping his head back between his shoulders, and then tossing it back to look as far heavenward as his angle manages. _His _fingers fidget against the tree trunk, curling and uncurling, pressing hard and then releasing.

Glenn moves one hand up to rub against his lower belly under his shirt, feeling the taut muscle and sweat-slick skin, and there's a sort of needy, breathy sound that this pulls out of Daryl, especially when Glenn's knuckles bump against his hard cock.

Glenn wraps his hand around it and pumps it slowly, slower than his hips are going, wanting to tease, as if it's even possible at this point, when he's already driving in and out of Daryl's ass.

Daryl leans back, pushing so his arms are locked straight, and his body lingers a small distance away from Glenn's. The next few thrusts move them closer, so that Glenn's stomach is just barely touching the small of Daryl's back, but then Daryl seems to catch himself and leans forward again, burying his face into his forearm.

A few seconds later, his muscles all tighten, his body stiffens, and he grunts loudly, bucking his hips. Glenn feels the familiar warm wetness dripping thickly onto his hand and Daryl's whole being just relaxes. Glenn lets go of his cock and wraps his arm around Daryl's waist to help hold him up in case his legs fail. He's getting close, so close, and he starts to move faster, harder, unable to keep hold of that which was holding him back before. It isn't long until he follows Daryl over the edge into his own orgasm. His body jerks as he spills into the condom, moaning embarrassingly loud into the air of the clearing.

It takes a few minutes before they're ready to start cleaning up, and until then, they sit next to each other at the base of the tree, pants still open, breathing heavily. Glenn has to use a few leaves to get the come off of his hand, and after a little deliberation, he ends up shallowly burying the condom and its wrapper.

Daryl is a little more quiet than usual, responding to Glenn's attempts at light banter monosyllabically. He doesn't seem _upset_, though—Glenn's pretty sure that if Daryl's upset, _everyone _can tell—so Glenn lets it go. Besides, they're both adults. If something's wrong, Daryl can just tell him.

The crossbow training has slowed down a bit since Glenn's begun to prove himself, and Daryl can provide no more challenges. So they let the wilderness decide whether it'll present them with anything, ranging a little ways from the clearing. Glenn catches a hare, and Daryl manages to nab a couple of squirrels with just his knife. Which is incredibly impressive. There is still deer back at camp to be eaten, however, and so they stop there. Anything else would perish before they got a chance to eat it, and that would be wasteful. By now, Glenn is used to killing, but not just for the hell of it.

On the way back, Daryl speaks up.

"Um. I figure you'd've told me if that helped you figure things out, right?"

"Yeah," Glenn answers, apologetic. "It's the same story this time as it always is, I guess. I… understand if you don't want to do this anymore."

"Nah, that's okay," Daryl says, keeping his eyes forward. "We can keep going. If you want." He pauses. "Was it good?"

Glenn snickers, caught off guard by the question. "Yeah, yeah, it was good. Really good. Next time, though, can we… can we switch? It might help if I could see how it is… well… you know."

"Yeah, sure." Daryl still doesn't turn his head. They emerge out of the woods and onto the farm and he finally looks over for a quick glance and small, stiff smile. "C'mon, we better get these prepared for the women."

They go about the rest of the day as usual, together and not together, doing little chores around the farm or just relaxing in the house for a nice change of pace from the cold. But, Glenn notices, Daryl is a little more reserved than usual, almost like they went back to those days a few weeks ago when they were first starting this whole thing out.

It hurts, actually, unexpectedly so. Glenn's not sure what he did wrong, and though he's not sure of the exact nature of his feelings for Daryl, he knows he at _least _thinks of him as a friend. And he doesn't want—he doesn't want Daryl to be _done _with him.

He goes to bed anxious that night and has trouble sleeping; he lies awake for hours in Hershel's house, worrying, worrying, wondering how Daryl feels, wondering if, somehow, he's screwed things up. He tries to force himself into clarity about his own feelings, begs for an epiphany of some sort. It doesn't come. When he finally falls asleep, his dreams are surreal and disturbing and useless.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey! Again, I'd like to thank my readers and those who favorite and alert, as well as the reviewers-for chapter 3, this includes MinuteCloser2Failing, simplegay me, and writerchick0214 (I'm going to take a minute and mention that writerchick0214 is one of my very favorite authors in this fandom right now and everyone should go check out her profile)! **

**I apologize, I think every chapter just gets shorter and shorter. The vast majority of this chapter came out tonight, within a couple of hours; I think from here it should be pretty smooth sailing, so it shouldn't be too terribly long before I get the next chapter out. There will only be one or two more after this!**

**Also, I'm sorry if there are typos; like last time, I will reread after this is posted and edit from there. It's midnight where I am, which would normally not be SUCH a bad thing, except I have to get up for work in the morning. So I will leave this here! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!**

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They don't get the chance to go off into the woods again the next day, because Glenn has to go on a supply run that ends up taking up most of the day, or the next, because Daryl comes down with a twenty-four-hour flu. When he first presented symptoms, the group panicked, sure he must have been bit, but it quickly became apparent that he was just sick, just the kind of normal sick that was present in their lives before all of this happened.

He spends all day shut up in the house, alternating between lying on the couch with a threadbare blanket, which he sometimes needs desperately and sometimes can't stand to have near him, and huddled up in the bathroom over the toilet or lying on the floor. The floor is tiled and it's nice and cool against his feverish skin when he's just been puking his guts out. Carol and Hershel and Patricia hover over him all day and he's cranky with them, uncomfortable in his sickness and with the attention, but they mostly ignore it and he can't really manage many words to protest, anyway.

Glenn spends that day nearly making himself sick with worry, confused about where he stands with Daryl and whether he'd be a welcome presence. He wants to go and make sure Daryl doesn't need anything; he wants to make him feel better in any way that he can. He doesn't know how he would do that, but he figures he'd start by just asking. If Daryl would want to talk to him. Glenn's unsure about that, enough that he can't bring himself to try.

The day after that, though, Daryl's feeling remarkably better. He isn't at one-hundred percent yet, of course, but it's enough that he's walking around and hollering at anyone who tries to get him to sit. Still, though, when Glenn goes out with him into the woods, he's pale and Glenn keeps having to coax him to drink more water.

They get to their normal spot and Daryl turns around to face him, and he looks really tired. Glenn reaches out and places his hand on Daryl's shoulder.

"Not today. I'm just out here to make sure you don't pass out or anything."

Daryl just squints at him, grumbles, "I don't need your fuckin' help." But he takes the crossbow off his back and goes off into the woods, holding it loosely, and Glenn likes to think he's become an expert at reading Daryl Dixon at this point. So he follows, because what he's reading is that Daryl is maybe a little bit grateful, and he doesn't mind if Glenn sticks around.

It isn't until a full two days after _that _that the day finally comes. Glenn is practically buzzing with excitement and nerves; they've never had such a long pause in their… whatever this is. And so he's antsy and totally eager for it. But he's also going to be _taking it up the ass_. This is, in itself, pretty terrifying for him. He can't stop fidgeting as he follows Daryl through the trees.

Things between him and Daryl are slightly better than before. Whatever awkwardness settled in before is pretty much gone now, but Daryl's still a little distant. It still fills Glenn's stomach with a really, really _awful _feeling, like dread or something, which he's not sure he understands entirely—but if Daryl's not saying anything, then by god, he's keeping his own mouth shut, too. He doesn't want to fuck things up any further.

He's not even sure what he did in the first place, really. But he's going to avoid doing it again. Or anything else, if he can help it.

He sees Daryl walking ahead of him, sees the muscles as they move underneath his shirt, and doesn't know what he thinks. So he makes himself think, _Daryl really needs to clean the blood and guts off of his shirt._ And that doesn't really feel right, so he thinks instead, _Daryl's muscles are very attractive_.

That doesn't quite feel right, either. His brain is _so goddamn frustrating_. He kind of wants to throw shit around, but that might attract unwanted attention and also, he's not five years old anymore.

They step into the clearing and Daryl turns his head over his shoulder to give a small, unsure smile. He gingerly sets his crossbow on the ground, then takes out his knife and tosses it down as well. His gun follows; he pulls it out of the back of his pants, checks the safety, then squats down to place it in the dirt next to the crossbow.

"I don't figure you prepped yourself," he says then, almost casually, though he doesn't meet Glenn's eyes as he stands up.

"No," Glenn replies, skin heating up in a blush. "I don't really know what to do, so I was hoping you would… help me out. With that." He pulls off his hat and rubs his hand over the back of his head.

Daryl nods, smiles again, says, "Yeah."

Glenn thinks the smile's not quite right. Like, kind of sad.

He really wishes Daryl would stop looking sad, because it breaks his heart a little bit. He wants to ask what he can do to fix it, whatever it is. Before he has the chance to indulge that whim, though, Daryl reaches into his pocket and pulls out that same little bottle of lube, shaking it a little so the liquid inside sloshes around noisily. He turns to face Glenn full on, looking a little shy.

"Well, really what you gotta do is get stretched out a little, so it don't hurt. Later." He sniffs, rubs his nose. "I could do it, or you could. Up to you."

The thought of doing that to himself freaks him the fuck out because, _first _of all, he's not exactly Mr. Confident when it comes to _fingering himself open_, and so he doesn't want Daryl to _watch him do it_. Second, he's woefully inexperienced. He'd feel better if Daryl was the one doing it, so that it would be done right. Glenn is only mildly surprised by how comfortable he feels with the idea of it.

"You do it," he says, trying to sound decisive but ending up with something closer to pleading.

Daryl just nods and steps closer, pointing at the tree behind Glenn. "'Kay, take your pants off and put your hands against the tree, then." He looks down to the bottle, flicking the cap open, and Glenn wordlessly obeys, thinking of how strange it is, seeing that tiny little bottle in Daryl's big hands.

There is a pause. One of those hands settles on his hip and gently guides it back, just a bit. Glenn can feel the breaths he's taking become heavier, more laborious, and his skin is heating up very slightly all over. The anticipation is _killing him_.

It takes even longer for Daryl to make another move, and Glenn thinks—is Daryl just, like, _looking _at it? Because if so, he's damn glad he paid extra attention to washing that area in the shower this morning.

Daryl's other hand comes down softly on his skin, on the edge of his ass, almost where it meets his hipbone. There's some lube on his fingers already, smearing as he moves his hand over the swell, movements slow and calm and _sweet_.

And just like that, it's over.

Daryl's hands leave Glenn and he's backing away quickly, refusing to even look in Glenn's direction. Before Glenn can even finish turning around and pulling his pants back up, Daryl is mumbling that he can't do it, they need to stop this, he doesn't want this anymore, moving all the while. He's wiping the lube off on his pants, gathering up his weapons.

"Wait—_wait, Daryl_!" Glenn stalks forward, face burning with embarrassment. "What—what the hell? What did I do?" He grips Daryl's shoulders firmly, forcing him to turn and face him. Daryl scowls and knocks his hands away.

"I ain't doin' this no more, got it?"

"You mean—you mean just the sex, right? I'm sorry, I didn't want to make you do anything you didn't want to—"

"I mean _everything, _Chinaman, I don't wanna be your fuckin' _friend_, alright? Just leave me be." With a final shove at Glenn's chest, he stalks of into the woods, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder before he disappears from view.

Glenn stands there for a few minutes, completely floored, feeling humiliated and _sad _and sick to his fucking stomach. His eyes are burning, tingling with rapidly forming tears that he wants desperately to hold back. He swallows thickly and blinks and a few tears roll out, falling swiftly down his face, but he keeps his mouth clamped shut, tongue pressed hard against the roof of his mouth, and wipes them away.

He trudges heavily back to the farm, forcibly working his face back into a neutral expression the whole way.

When he finally enters the house, Lori and Maggie and Andrea are sitting around the table talking, looking as though they're getting along for once, and they look up at him.

"Hey, Glenn," Lori greets, a note of confusion slipping into her voice. "You're back pretty early. Where's Daryl?"

By this point, everyone in their little group knows about their friendship. They've never intruded on the most intimate conversations or the more physical moments, of course, but they know that Glenn goes with Daryl on every hunting trip now, and they see the way they hang out together on the farm.

Glenn shrugs. "He just started yelling at me and went off on his own." He's banking on the fact that everyone here knows that Daryl is an asshole (because he _is_, Glenn thinks, he's the biggest asshole, he's such a _huge fucking asshole_) and they won't question it.

It works. The women nod at him sagely before turning back to their conversation, and Glenn locks himself in the bathroom for a few minutes of alone time. And not the sexy kind.

He huddles on the floor against the counter and buries his face in his folded arms. He feels like utter _shit_, he really does. He's hurt and angry and guilty all at once, with hot, thick threads of embarrassment filling up the veins and the bones in his whole body. His head feels so, so heavy.

What did he do? Seriously, he really wants to fucking know, because he feels so lost and groundless. He feels horrible and he doesn't know why, like Daryl just took him and flung him out into space, into exile, to just drift around.

And that makes him _mad_, because he feels like Daryl's just stringing him along. And he feels like he's going to _let_ himself be strung along, because Daryl _means something _to him and he wants to know and _fix_ the damage he's caused.

And _Jesus_, he's going to just miss being in Daryl's company. He's going to miss being his _friend_. Because as much as he wants to fight for this, for whatever it is they had, he doesn't want to force things. He doesn't want to make it worse.

He kind of thinks he has to back off on this one, as much as it hurts. Maybe Daryl will come around at some point.

So he stands up, turns on the tap to a small, but steady stream of cold water, and splashes his face a few times before patting himself dry. He takes a deep breath, braces himself for his new world, the one where he can't have Daryl by his side. It's strange, because they really haven't even been friends for very long, but it's _so _difficult to think about this new reality. So he doesn't; instead, he opens the door to the bathroom and sets off to find someone or something else to occupy his time.


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter got WEIRDLY far away from me for a bit. I finally decided on how the events of the last two episodes of season 2 went down in my 'verse, and so there's a bit of an explanation for that, and then what I suppose I can only describe as a bit of an interlude. But don't worry, we get back on track by the end. I have said almost this exact thing twice now, but there are probably like, one or two more chapters after this. This chapter is longer than the last two, I think. Still though, it always looks so much longer on MS Word, and then getting it into the doc manager is so disappointing... Amirite?**

**As always, huge thanks to the people who read, alert, favorite, and review (the lovely writerchick0214 reviewed chapter 4)!**

**Anyway, I love you all and I hope you enjoy chapter five and then I also hope you review after reading. :)**

**EDIT: I just remembered I also got a review from JustVC for last chapter, as well! I'm so sorry for not adding you in the author's note above; I think I read your review when I was half-asleep? And also I wrote the author's note before I received the review. Sorry! Sorry! Thank you so much for your kind words!  
**

**Another EDIT: I just read my author's note for chapter 1 in which I said that, in this story, nothing past the barn opening happened. WELL. I forgot about that. This chapter contradicts that. I did make sure before I published this chapter that nothing in it goes against the actual content of the story, though. So just forget about that Chapter 1 author's note, please and thank you.**

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Things after that get weird. Because it's the damn _apocalypse _and the camp is full of _drama _like it's middle school. Daryl isn't speaking to him, _again_, though obviously he expected it. And this suits Glenn just fine, because he's not speaking to Daryl either. It hasn't quite degenerated to the point of the group picking sides, mostly because the both of them are keeping tight-lipped about the reasoning, but their silent feud is making the atmosphere of the whole place very tense.

Glenn spends a lot of time waffling between anger and sadness and guilt. One minute he'll be thinking about how much of a damn baby Daryl is being, sulking around and giving him the cold shoulder, and then he's feeling horrified that he even thought such a thing, that maybe Glenn did something _really wrong _and Daryl's acting totally appropriately. Other times, he's just mourning their friendship. He does a fair amount of his own sulking. It's just that… his heart _hurts. _

Is that why Daryl's doing this?

Carol keeps giving the both of them sad looks. She tries to talk to Daryl, to sit with him, but he just snaps at her like he does everyone else. She leaves him alone for a little while but tries again, keeps trying.

Glenn wishes he had the courage to do that.

It's the day of the first snowfall when he decides to talk to Carol. Daryl has bundled himself up and gone out into the woods, and Carl has begged his dad to come out with him into the snow, though there isn't much of it. Rick himself has been going through a difficult time; a couple of weeks before Glenn started this whole awful _sexuality-questioning _episode, Shane went crazy and tried to kill Rick while they were out looking for Randall, their escaped prisoner, a kid they found in town who belonged to a dangerous group of people. Turns out Shane had killed Randall already, snapped his neck and left him to turn into a geek for Glenn and Daryl to find. Shane held his gun on Rick and Rick talked him down before stabbing him in the chest. When Shane turned, got up from the ground and went after Rick again, this time to eat him, Rick stabbed him again in the head just as Carl was coming up the hill.

It was all really fucked up.

Right after that, while they were still kind of standing over Shane's body in shock, they noticed a giant herd of walkers over the hill, bigger than any herd they'd ever seen before. They were currently ambling in a different direction, away from the farm, so Rick and Carl silently headed back to warn everyone. It was a tense time; Daryl and Glenn were still out in the woods, heading back from where they'd found and killed walker-Randall, and they came back to everyone huddled in the cellar in the dark, silent and scared, Shane missing, and Rick covered in his blood. They stayed there for hours, no one daring to speak above a whisper or fall asleep.

Lori was upset for a long time, unable to trust her husband. Carl, still a child, recovered a little better; he knew that his dad had killed Shane, that Shane had tried to kill him first, that there was a rift between his parents now. He was a little cautious of Rick for a while, but he still loved him, still spent time with him and hugged him and tried to help him feel better. Lori eventually got over it, mostly. It's not something Glenn suspects will ever go away, but she's forgiven him and she's standing by him. She still loves Rick, still sleeps next to him at night, still kisses him and smiles at him and lets him hold her.

Glenn watches Carl and Rick—Carl throws a really pathetic snowball at his dad and Rick grins, big and bright like he used to more often and picks Carl up to tackle him playfully into the snow—and it's good to see that smile back. He's sitting out on the porch with Beth, Maggie, T-Dog, and Carol, and they're all watching the two while Maggie and T-Dog keep up a conversation. Beth sits next to her sister, listening and reacting but too shy to speak up. Carol's just watching Carl and Rick, looking kind of happy and wistful as she sits on the edge of the porch with her feet on the steps, leaning into the railing. Glenn's taken up residence beside her. He's mostly thinking about Daryl. As always.

He sends a glance over in Carol's direction. She's always seemed to understand Daryl. Hell, before he found out about Daryl's orientation, he was pretty sure they had a thing. Something about Sophia going missing and then dying, coming back as a walker to wreak havoc on their lives just by being in that damn _barn_, something about all that brought them closer together. Glenn suspects it was because of Ed, because of the way Ed used to beat on Carol and, sometimes, little Sophia. But this is not something they ever even _touched _in their conversations before, not even the most open and heartfelt of them. He's sure the physical injury in Daryl's side from the crossbow has barely healed, let alone the emotional wounds he sustained.

But anyway—Carol.

"Carol," Glenn says softly, trying not to bring too much attention to himself. She looks over at him, smiling mildly.

"Yes, Glenn?" And she sounds like she knows what he wants already.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

She nods, stands up and grabs his hand to lead him into the house. They settle into what Glenn thinks is called a parlor. In Michigan they'd just refer to it as a living room. No one's in there (in Michigan no one ever used the living room, either, unless there was no accompanying family room or den), so they have a bit of privacy.

"What'd you wanna talk to me about?" She sits watching him, her elbow propped up on the back of the couch, and she's so knowing and non-judgmental. He bets she's a really good mother.

He looks at her sheepishly, head ducked a little, and says, "Daryl," huffing a laugh out of his nose. "Big surprise." But it's humorless, and he finishes by staring down at his hands in his lap as he picks at his fingernails. "I just wanted to know—I mean, I don't know if he actually talks to you or anything. It doesn't really seem like he talks to _anybody_. But, I mean—you just seem like maybe you can at least understand him or something. I have no idea what's going through his head and it's just—" He makes a frustrated little noise and stops talking, eyes flicking back up to her face, hopeful.

"I don't know much," she tells him regretfully. "You're right, he doesn't talk to anybody. All I can tell is, he's hurtin' over _somethin'_. Have _you _tried talking to 'im?"

Glenn shrugs, hangs his head. After a second, he admits, "No. I'm scared."

"You should try. I'm not sure if I have to tell you this, but he's gentler than he tries to come off. Maybe he'll listen. I think… I think he really cares about you, Glenn." Her voice is soft and reassuring, and finally Glenn feels a little optimistic about the whole thing.

"Really?"

She nods.

Thanks," he says, levering himself to his feet. "I think I'm going to do that. Thanks."

The conversation has given him a burst of energy, leaving him giddy. He knows that he doesn't have much of a chance of just _finding _Daryl if he goes off into the woods after him, so he has to wait to talk to him. Unfortunately. But he really has to burn off this energy somehow.

So he runs out of the room and tears through the front door into the cold outside air. He spots Carl and Rick still playing in the snow, and he grabs T-Dog by the sleeve.

"C'mon, T-Dog, let's launch a sneak attack."

So they sneak off the porch and into the yard, forming snowballs with the light dusting that's gathered on the ground. T-Dog has a rueful grin on his face, like he can't believe Glenn talked him into this, and then they count to three and launch their ammo.

Glenn's snowball beans Rick in the back of the head and T-Dog's glances off Carl's shoulder. Glenn whoops loudly and belts out huge laughter, trying to hold the sound in with his hands. After recovering from his brief moment of surprise, Rick sends a covert glance to Carl, who nods solemnly, and then they retaliate, drawing from what Glenn notices to be a pile of already-formed snowballs. He didn't see those before. Whoops.

Their snowball fight turns into a war when Beth, Jimmy, and Maggie join in, teaming up with Glenn and T-Dog, and then Andrea joins Rick and Carl's side, hoping to level the playing field a bit. Patricia even gets in on it a little, helping out the still-outnumbered team. Lori, Hershel, and Carol watch from the porch.

And everyone's _laughing_. They've gotten beyond the fear of attracting walkers, which is maybe a little irresponsible, but they've already observed how the cold makes the things even more sluggish than usual and they're not really worried. Glenn cannot remember feeling this relaxed—not even since before the walkers happened, but since he was a _kid_, maybe. It even feels good to be tackled to the ground by Andrea and Carl, to have snow shoved down his collar. It's the most disorganized snowball fight he thinks he's ever been in, really, and the snowballs themselves are weak, thin things, but it's unexpectedly, overwhelmingly _fun_.

Carol has lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. He knows he still has to talk things out with Daryl, which could go horribly wrong, but what she said—_he really cares about you, you should try talking to him, he's hurting_—he doesn't _want _Daryl to be hurting, of course, but it's nice to know that it's hurt and not real, real _anger_, that maybe he can fix it.

Daryl happens upon them in the middle of the whole thing, when it's basically degenerated into delighted screaming, shoving into the snow, tossing chunks of it without even bothering to form it into any shape. He stands there watching them for a few seconds, several dead animals tossed over his shoulder. Rick spots him first and stops, absolutely beaming in childlike glee, and shouts to him, "Wanna join us, Dixon?"

Amazingly, Daryl chuckles, then pulls a squirrel off of himself and holds it up in the air. "Not unless you want me chuckin' these around, Grimes."

"Wouldn't be the first time!"

Glenn, T-Dog, Andrea, and Lori bust up laughing at the memory of Daryl tossing a bunch of squirrels at Rick the first time the two men met, even though the moment had been _so tense_ at the time.

"Y'all are crazy," Daryl says, kind of fondly.

For the whole rest of the day, everyone is glowing with happiness. It's better than any one of them has felt in a very long time.

The next morning, Glenn wakes up extra early because he knows Daryl's probably going to be the only other one awake. He's right. As he walks into the foyer, he sees Daryl sitting on the floor next to the window, looking outside, his breath frosting the glass.

"What are you looking at?" he asks, keeping his voice low. It still startles Daryl a bit; he twitches kind of violently before turning to look at him. His gaze is softer, after yesterday, but still not friendly.

"Nothin', just thinkin'. What's it to you?"

"I was just wondering if we could talk," Glenn blurts. He has the grace to look a little embarrassed but mostly he's just hoping to at least be granted permission for a conversation.

Daryl sighs heavily, returning his gaze to the outside. "I don't wanna talk about all that," he says finally.

"Daryl—" Glenn sits, leaning his back against the front door and watching Daryl's face, not tearing his eyes away. "Come on. I hate the way things are with us right now. I can't stand—I can't stand you being mad at me. I don't know what I did, but I never wanted to hurt you, and _god_, if I could go back in time I would change it, I _would_. I _hate_ knowing that I hurt you somehow."

There is a long pause. Daryl doesn't turn away from the window until just before he speaks, and his face looks so soft and vulnerable with all of the anger he constantly carries with him gone.

"I get that this whole thing was just. Dunno, whatever, a _game _for you or a fuckin' adventure or something," he says finally. Even though he's cursing, he doesn't sound mad at all, just kind of resigned. "But it ain't, for me. It ain't _just _that."

"What do you mean?" Glenn asks cautiously, feeling inexplicably like he is treading on dangerous ground.

"God, are you fuckin' stupid or somethin'? It's _more_ than that. You gonna make me spell it out for you? Cause I'd really rather you just take the goddamn hint."

"Oh—oh, god. So, what, you… _like _me?"

"The fuck, are we in goddamn fourth grade?" Daryl's face is beet red, and he pulls up his knees and buries it in his arms to hide the blush. "Look," he continues, voice muffled, "It's more than that too. I can't fuckin'… I can't _say it_."

Glenn's heart is pounding. "You… love me?"

This time, Daryl stays silent, and his body goes completely still. He looks childlike, so unlike himself.

"Oh. Gosh. I'm so sorry." His brain is reeling.

"Yeah, whatever," Daryl dismisses sullenly. "It ain't like I'm holdin' out hope for you reciprocatin' or nothin', okay, so why don't we just forget about all this."

"Daryl, I don't… I don't even _know _how I feel."

"Which means you don't. It's alright, okay, just fuckin' drop it." He finally lifts his head up from where it's pressed against his arms. He looks worn-out, now, but his face is still pink.

"But, wait, Daryl, I don't want—I don't want to go back to the way things were this past two weeks. I _missed _you. No matter how jumbled up my feelings are, I know _for sure _that I really, really care about you. I don't… want to stop… having you in my life." He winces at his awkward wording. "Can we just please at least try to be friends?"

Daryl sighs, stretching his legs out in front of him again and looking down at his hand as he cleans dirt from underneath his fingernails. "Yeah. I mean, 'side from all that, I actually do just _like_ you. I didn't really mean it when I said I didn't wanna be your _friend_, okay. You got a lot of sense and you don't bother me none like all the others do, and you ain't nosy, and you didn't get all _overbearing_ and shit when I told you about my daddy and all that. So, yeah. Fine."

"Great. Cool." Glenn breathes, beaming, trying to resist the urge to launch himself at Daryl for a hug. "I'm gonna go back to bed then. Because I'm pretty exhausted from yesterday. But I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Cool. Look, again, I'm really sorry for all that, I never would have suggested that if I knew—I mean, I feel like the biggest tool on the planet—"

"Good lord, you talk way too fuckin' much. Go back to sleep if you're goin'."

"Yeah. See you later, Daryl." Glenn nearly bounds back to his spot on one of the couches. He snuggles into the blankets and closes his eyes. It feels like he should be too energized to fall back asleep, but what's actually happened is that all the tension of the past two weeks has melted out of him; his body has unknotted. He's asleep again in less than a minute.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey y'all! Unfortunately, I have to give you a baby chapter this time because I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again and I don't want to leave you hanging for too long. So sorry!**

**Warning: This chapter is SUPER SMUTTY (because of masturbation). I'm going to operate for the time being as if FFnet is not deleting stories with mature content, and if this gets deleted then I guess I'll learn how to use my LJ? I already have one (mlletrex) but I haven't done anything with it yet. So if one day you find that my story's missing, go check that out (and PM me if you have LJ tips because I need them).**

**Again, thank you to the readers, alerters, favoriters, and reviewers! I actually got a much better response than usual to my last chapter! Reviewers since last time: simplegay me, PurpleRanger, mrsdaisybuchanan, writerchick0214, Effigy, Ihasabukkit, Kitty Bane, and DarkMystiqe. I'm not going to lie, I freaked out a little when I saw Ihasabukkit's review; I'm a little obsessed with Three Trees! Go check it out!**

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It's only a couple of days before Glenn is undistracted enough to notice that he hasn't gotten off in a _really _long time. He thought about just helping himself out, once or twice, while he and Daryl were feuding, but the idea of it sent a flush of guilt right through his body.

It's been about two and a half weeks at this point. He's pretty certain he's _never _gone that long _since he discovered masturbation_.

As soon as the realization occurs, he can't stop _thinking _about it. He's pretty desperate for it, actually. His dick is literally aching now. And, you know, since he and Daryl are friends again, the idea of taking care of it no longer makes him feel so bad.

So, when he goes into the bathroom to take a shower, he triple-checks the lock on the door and then strips down in record time. He absentmindedly palms himself as he turns on the water and waits a minute for the temperature to settle. They're supposed to limit their use of hot water, which normally kind of sucks—but today it suits Glenn just fine.

He literally hops into the tub, wincing a little when the cold water first hits his skin. He squirms around, uncomfortable, until he starts to get used to the temperature. As soon as it becomes bearable, he starts moving the hand that's been on his cock the whole time. He's slow at first, trying to conjure up some image in his mind to help him along.

And then he remembers how very, very confused he is.

Is he supposed to just imagine girls, like he has in the past? Or, what, should he picture guys and see how it makes him feel, try to turn this into a learning experience? He shuts his eyes, deciding on a kind of roulette—just, he'll see whatever comes into his mind first.

What he thinks of first is a memory. Roughly three weeks ago, when he fucked Daryl for the first time (he thinks that like there was, or ever will be, a second time). He remembers how the skin on Daryl's hips felt; cleaner than he'd expected, and softer, other than the puckering of one tiny scar under his left index finger. He remembers the soft press of the small of Daryl's back on his stomach. He remembers _needing _to feel the skin of Daryl's lower belly, and the noises that his touch drew. He remembers that hard, hard pressure squeezing him.

And then he thinks about what Daryl said before they even got started that day—_I already prepped myself_—and he can't stop the idea of that from taking hold in his brain and flooding it with imagery.

Like Daryl's hand sinking lower and lower between his legs, lingering to give a single, gentle pump to his dick and then caress his balls before dipping down to slowly trace the tip of one finger around the rim of that sweet opening. Here, Glenn's mind supplies the image of it from memory as he casually strokes himself with his mouth hanging open.

The Daryl in Glenn's head is flushed and sweaty, his head is thrown back, and his face is morphed into an expression very similar to Glenn's—mouth open, eyes closed. He finally lets lube-slicked fingers breach the entrance, two of them, just up to the knuckle—he's teasing himself, swirling them around a little, refusing to speed up his motions or go any deeper. His breaths are getting caught in his throat. He moves the fingers in and out, still no deeper or faster than before, and after a few repetitions, he can't help but let his body start rocking, up and down, pulling a groan from way down in his chest.

Glenn pants, leaning forward to prop himself up against the wall with his forearm. The cold water is splashing over his face, plastering his hair to his forehead, but he doesn't feel it anymore the way his skin is burning up. He hasn't noticed the way his hand has started to pick up the pace.

Daryl winces, pulling one finger out to let the other push all the way in, and he's just _sinking down on it_, all the way, and he gasps in a breath and sighs it out. He crooks the finger, letting it rub against his insides, and growls lowly as it grazes that beautiful, amazing spot inside of him that Glenn's heard about. He reaches for the lube blindly and manages to grab it, open it up. He removes his hand for a moment, just as much time as is needed to wet his fingers again and dribble the liquid over his palm, though even that long is too long. Desperate, he pushes two fingers in, relishing in the burn of it, letting the rest of his hand rub up against his balls—

And then Glenn surprises himself by coming all over the wall, barely catching himself in time to contain the loud moan that wants to come out. He's left gasping for air, leaning against his arm where it's pressed against the tiles, waiting for his body to stop jerking, and then for his hands to quit shaking.

Holy _fuck_, he thinks, that was absolutely incredible. And not just in the usual _I'm touching myself_ kind of way, but more like, _I just imagined Daryl fingering himself and it was so, so sexy and hot and I want to be there in person next time so I can touch him and have him touch me._

Okay, so, he likes guys. Or at least Daryl. But honestly, he's _never _had such a fantastic wank thinking about any lady. Ever. And he's pretty sure at this point he needs to procure a rainbow flag and throw a fucking parade.

And now the guilt is back full force. Because, really, Glenn? First of all, he really just figured this out _now_, of all times? And second, Daryl _loves him_, like really loves him, and Glenn is supposed to be backing off, not _masturbating to thoughts of him in the shower_. What the hell? He was fairly certain before that he could not have _been _a bigger asshole to Daryl, but here he is, doing exactly that.

He sighs heavily and continues his shower, turning up the water to a more bearable temperature and making sure the wall is cleaned off before he shampoos his hair and runs a bar of soap quickly over his body. He and Daryl are going hunting again today and he doesn't want to keep Daryl waiting. He doesn't want to do wrong by Daryl ever again, he thinks, remembering the way he curled himself up in the foyer the other morning, flushed pink as he tried to hint at his feelings.

Glenn hurries out of the shower and into a fresh pair of clothes, running off to meet Daryl at the edge of the farm where he knows he'll be waiting. The weather isn't cold enough for another snowfall—Glenn doesn't suspect they'll get that much snow the whole winter, really. But his wet hair in the brisk air is still very uncomfortable, which is unfortunate, but he doesn't really have a hat or anything. By the time he reaches Daryl, who's waiting exactly where he said he'd be, Daryl is already holding out a hat for him.

"Wha—" Glenn asks, taking the hat in his hands.

"You look like you need it more than I do," is the simple, gruff response.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep." Daryl presses his lips together and nods, overly casual, then turns to walk into the woods as Glenn trots after him, pulling on the hat. It's thick and woolly, and it smells like Daryl. Glenn likes that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Buh, sorry for the wait, everyone. The blame lies mostly with writer's block. I really wanted to put out a longer chapter this time, but I was on the struggle bus for real. I think I'm back in the swing of things now that I've started a new chapter and can kind of go at it from a different angle, though!**

**Huge thanks again to everyone who even just likes this story, really, but _special_ huge thanks if you add it (or me) to your favorites or alerts! And _extra special _huge thanks if you review, like writerchick0214 (it's worth mentioning again: her stories are seriously great), simplegay me, SaintFable, Neutral747, Curry Powder, Ihasabukkit (another awesome writer!), and Sunshine- aki!**

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It is actually hunting this time, first and foremost—and only, really. They don't stop in the clearing, or even pass through it. Daryl gives his crossbow to Glenn and pulls out his hunting knife instead and hardly speaks, his footsteps light. They range farther out than Glenn's been before.

It's all Glenn can do to stay silent and vigilant when there's such thick, _thick_ tension between them. He can kind of tell that Daryl is pointedly not paying attention to him, which sort of means that he's paying attention to him.

Daryl is leading by a few steps, and Glenn, poor, sad Glenn with his newfound _incredible attraction _to Daryl, happens to notice early on in their trip the way his ass looks in his pants. They're baggy in the legs but just a little too tight everywhere else and they just… they _cradle it_ so nicely.

He ends up with a half-boner, trying really hard to avoid staring. He kind of wants to cry.

In the end, he does end up with a pretty good catch (though he still feels slightly emasculated watching Daryl stab squirrels as they scamper up tree trunks) despite his dilemma. The sun is getting pretty low in the sky at this point, so they decide they've got enough and get the hell back to camp as fast as they can.

Carol smiles knowingly at them as they enter the kitchen and says, "I'm glad to see you two are friends again."

Glenn's cheeks get really hot and Daryl makes a face, and they avoid each other for the rest of the night.

Things do warm up between them eventually and then they really _are _friends again. It's always a struggle for Glenn, of course, to suppress his feelings, to make sure he's maintaining the friendly distance so as not to make things too hard on the both of them (although, taken out of context, that sounds like something he might really, really like), but, as he always did before, he loves Daryl's company and so he makes it work.

They spend the winter inside, mostly, everyone all together, and it gets very difficult to handle at times. Andrea and Lori are almost always snappy with each other and it sometimes devolves to arguments and shouting matches. Daryl gets pretty irritable, unnerved by the sheer number of people hanging around, and more than once he has to storm out of the house to get away from it all. Glenn doesn't think he's _angry _when he does it so much as just _uncomfortable_.

Glenn's learning when he should leave Daryl alone and when he should follow him out.

Another thing he's learning is that it's damn hard to hide stuff in a house with thirteen people. The others keep giving them weird looks. The women keep mentioning how they seem attached at the hip. Carol just smiles.

A lot.

Glenn's pretty sure she's somehow figured out what's going on. He tries not to be alone with her just in case she tries to talk to him about it. Also, it's creepy how perceptive she is.

When the weather starts getting better, the supply runs and the hunting trips become more frequent. Glenn pretty much runs into town bi-weekly now. Sometimes he takes someone with him—Rick, Daryl, or Andrea—but mostly, he goes alone. When he comes back, Daryl is always waiting on the porch, his face expressionless and his posture casual, but he watches Glenn intently until he's close, until Daryl can tell he's alright, and then he nods. Glenn returns with a grin and goes inside, toting a backpack full of supplies, and then Daryl waits about ten seconds before following behind.

Lori has her baby toward the end of April (or so estimates the half-assed tally of the days they continued after Dale's death). It's a little girl, and Rick and Lori name her Judith. Glenn volunteers to do a run into town to pick up anything they might need for her and receives a ridiculous list in return—what in the _shit _is a baby nasal aspirator? Lori wrote in parentheses next to it, "mucus pump," which sounds pretty awful—so Daryl offers to come with him to lighten the load.

Daryl drives and the atmosphere between them is easy. They're both smiling the whole time, leisurely looking out the windows and at the road and at each other—sometimes sneaking glances and sometimes deliberately meeting eyes.

And then they're in the store, in the baby aisle where not much was looted. It should not be so weird, the two of them essentially _shopping for baby stuff together_. It shouldn't even be something Glenn thinks twice about. But Daryl holds up two different blankets and asks which Glenn thinks will be better for Judy, says the one in his left hand is softer but it's blue (Glenn tells him that absolutely no one is going to worry about the color of it). And then they make sure to choose the bottles that say _BPA free _on the label. And as they're starting to leave, Daryl picks up a stuffed lion and presents it for Glenn's consideration. It wasn't on the list, but Daryl thinks Judy will like it.

Glenn nods and smiles. "Yeah, I think she will, too."

So Daryl stuffs it in his backpack, swings it over his shoulder, and strides past Glenn toward the entrance of the store. Glenn takes a minute to privately gush over how _adorable _that was just now before following him.

Daryl's up ahead, nearing the door, whistling a little bit, and suddenly Glenn gets a sinking feeling in his gut. He's not sure why, except he realizes that Daryl's guard is down.

A flicker of movement catches his eye and his head whips around to see a walker making its way out of a nearby aisle toward the whistling sound. It's a middle-aged man with his neck chewed up and his arm missing below the elbow and long-dried blood caked on its stomach over a series of long scratches. The noises it's making are quieter than the usual, probably because the mechanisms in its throat that produce those awful groans have been eaten.

Glenn freezes for a second and he _hates himself _for it, because the first thought that comes to his brain is, _it hasn't seen me, I'm safe._

But _Daryl's not safe. _Daryl is whistling a stupid little tune and his guard is down, and he can't even hear it coming. It's almost reached him. It's stretching out its horrible stump and its rotting fingers—bent, yellow fingernails and scraped up skin and another bite mark from the wrist—and it's almost touching Daryl's neck.

Something really strange is bubbling up in Glenn's chest, but he doesn't have time to think about it. Instead, he lunges forward, holding up the machete that was resting in his hand at his side this whole time. He shouldn't have forgotten it there, why he _needed _it there.

It's _panic_ in his chest, it's all-out terror and desperation, more than he's ever felt in his life. He _cannot _let Daryl die. He can't. He doesn't just not want to, but he _absolutely cannot _and he doesn't ever want to figure out what would happen if he did.

His body is a live wire. He can't hold all of that _electric _feeling inside of him, so he releases it with one short shout as his machete thwacks into the top of the walker's skull. The handle slips out of his hand as the blade sticks and falls with the dead body.

He watches it crumple and stares for a few seconds, chest heaving, and then looks up. Daryl is turned around, staring incredulously at him, and he's perfectly fine.

Glenn's limbs are flooded with relief, so intense, and he launches himself forward again, this time to pull Daryl to him in a forceful hug.

Daryl seems shocked for a moment, his hands lingering in the air, but then he rests them carefully on Glenn's back. Glenn just buries his face into Daryl's neck and breathes him in, too shaken to do anything else just yet.

Daryl relaxes into the hold and his arms rest more naturally around him. He stoops his head so his cheek is brushing across Glenn's hair.

Glenn chokes on his air a little bit and it almost becomes a sob, and Daryl nuzzles against him ever so slightly.

"C'mon," he says, his voice gruff and sweet and soft at the same time. "Let's get all this stuff back to Judy."

Daryl gives him space in the car on the way back, focusing on the road, no longer stealing glances.

Which is good, because now Glenn's starting to freak out about _what the hell that was back there_. He thinks he knows, deep down, but it scares the shit out of him, just the thought of it. So he digs for an alternate explanation.

Daryl is just his _best friend_, he reasons, and he would never want him to die.

When they get back to the farm, Daryl pulls the lion out of his backpack and presents it to Lori first as she cuddles Judy to her shoulder. Rick, standing behind her, takes it with a grin and thanks them as they pull their backpacks off to unload the rest of it.

Glenn's heart flutters as he watches Daryl reach out to gently tickle the baby, even though he knows he'll get a reproachful look from Lori for his dirty hands.

_Fuck_. _Fuck fuck fuck._

Glenn tries to remain in denial about it for a few days, telling himself it's just adrenaline combined with the deep caring he already feels for Daryl, but it's harder and harder to maintain that lie the further it is from the incident. Adrenaline doesn't last that long, but these _feelings _are certainly sticking around.

It's not that he's—heartless, or something. It's just that at every fucking turn he can't help but find the douchiest possible thing he could do to Daryl and then _do it_.

Because, _yeah, I know I basically used you and strung you along for weeks, and then rejected you and made you hang out with me anyway, but now I've decided that I love you back so let's get together now, _probably isn't going to go over well. Besides, who even knows whether Daryl still feels that way about him? Sure, that thought makes Glenn's stomach churn, but it's valid.

Glenn decides to keep his mouth shut for the time being—not because he thinks it's the _right _answer, but because it's the one that is currently the easiest and he has no idea what the right answer actually is.

It _sucks_. This whole thing just sucks. It hurts to be so close to Daryl without being able to act on his feelings. He hates knowing that he hurt Daryl and that he's probably hurting Daryl _still _and that there are so few ways this could play out that don't result in either hurting Daryl or hurting _himself. _He has no idea what to do.

It seems he's always fucking clueless. If he had just pulled his head out of his ass earlier things could be different.

But he goes on being Daryl's friend, lets it go for now, because apparently he's decided to just shove his head right back in there. Because he's _scared._

Glenn thinks about the hug he initiated after dropping that walker, about Daryl's cheek rubbing softly against his scalp and the strong arms around him. Despite the fact that they literally have had sex, that hug was the most intimate moment they ever had and Glenn _aches _to have that again.

Which is not to say that he doesn't want the sex back, either. That would be fantastic. He can't stop thinking about it, really.

But it's a huge risk to take. He wants Daryl in his life, no matter in what capacity, so he makes his choice.

He's already mentioned, but he feels it's worth repeating: it still seriously sucks. He sulks around the farm like a little girl a lot of the time. He hates to admit it, but he may be pining.

_Suck it up, Glenn_, he tries to tell himself, but it doesn't really work.

He is so fucked.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey y'all, WHAT DID YOU THINK ABOUT THE SEASON 3 TRAILER? I think the intensity of my emotional reaction to watching it is indicative of some disorder. I am so excited. I haven't watched it in days and thinking about it makes me want to cry.**

**Anyway, here is the second-to-last chapter of The Arrangement. I'm sorry about the wait! Again, I had a really difficult time forcing this out until about an hour or so ago, when I sat down and made myself write, and wrote the last 1,000 words (roughly) of this chapter. I was going to have this be the last chapter, but I think I got enough words out to be satisfied with leaving this here. Expect the next chapter in a shorter amount of time!**

**Of course, many thanks for reading, favoriting, and alerting, but my heart belongs to the reviewers. I got really, really great feedback on last chapter, which makes me so happy, and so excited to keep sharing what I write with you guys. Reviewers for last chapter were loveless fangirl, writerchick0214, Ihasabukkit, MinuteCloser2Failing, Kitty Bane, an anonymous reviewer called "Guest," Rising City, kutoki, and Crimson Tomato. I have so much love for all of you!  
**

**Thanks again to everyone who's sticking with me, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

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Daryl moves back out of the house in mid-May, because he does better when he's not trapped in there with all those people. He sets up his tent a fair distance away. Glenn misses him a little bit, but now that they're not together _all_ the time he can breathe a bit easier.

Glenn and Carol are sitting together on the porch one day, not really talking or anything. Carol's working on knitting a hat for the baby—Patricia taught her how to knit during the winter with her stash of yarn and between the two of them they kept the whole group warm—and Glenn is flipping halfheartedly through one of Dale's old books. Carl roped Beth into playing with him out in the field, and Daryl's on top of the RV keeping watch, his crossbow beside him and a rifle across his lap.

"Are you two having problems again?" Carol asks abruptly, still focused on her stitches.

Glenn starts, badly, dropping the book so it clatters on the boards between his feet.

"_What_?"

"You and Daryl," she clarifies needlessly, unfazed. "You seem upset lately. You keep lookin' at 'im like you're sad about something. You two having problems?" She finally stops knitting to peer at him.

He flounders. "Uh… buh. Well." He stops abruptly and leans forward in his chair to hide his face in his hands. "It's not a big deal," he tells her, muffled.

"Oh, honey."

He has no idea what he can say to explain what's going on without outing Daryl and himself. He makes a noise of sheepish frustration and sighs, lifting his head back up.

"We're not actually fighting or anything. It's just… It's just me."

"Are you sure? He's been lookin' at you, too, Glenn. Looks concerned." Carol glances over at Daryl where he sits on top of the RV. "He's looking at you right now."

Glenn blanches and looks up. Sure enough, Daryl's narrowed eyes are trained on him. And Carol's right—he doesn't seem mad, threatening. He _does _seem concerned.

"He's worried aboutcha," Carol says, seemingly in closing. "I am, too. Take care of yourself, okay, Glenn?"

He makes a face at her that, if he's to guess, is partly a smile and partly a scandalized grimace. Seriously, she's weirding him out with her super mom vibes and her insight.

The whole thing gets him thinking, though. He's been thinking of his situation as some sort of private thing, like it was an invisible pain he was feeling and had to suffer through alone.

But Daryl noticed him and his pain.

And he cares.

It's been so long since that day in the foyer when Daryl told him how he felt; when Glenn finally figured out his own feelings, there was no way for him to be sure, short of asking outright, which was never going to happen, that he still felt that way. But now, he thinks he knows. That look from the top of the RV—it was so genuine, it was a look a real _investment_. It made Glenn feel safe, and it made him realize that he isn't alone.

They're—they're in love.

God, they're _so close _to each other, they gravitate toward each other, and yet they're not _together_, not like they both want to be.

Not like, Glenn finally thinks, they _should _be. He's been such an idiot, this whole time.

He comes to a decision that night at dinner. Daryl's sitting next to him, focused on his plate and eating very methodically, much like he does everything—no frills. But when Glenn looks over at him, he immediately lifts his head to return the gaze.

Glenn's going to tell him soon. The thought of it, as well as the weight of Daryl's attention on him, fills him with excitement and it makes him a little dizzy. He grins widely.

Daryl searches his face for a second, looking mildly surprised, and after a few moments, he returns the smile.

It's stunning. Glenn is _so gone_ for this man, he really is—the expression on his face is relieved and so happy, and it makes him look more beautiful than Glenn's ever seen him. He can feel all the emotion building up in his chest until he might explode with it, so he looks back down at his food, still grinning like an idiot, and tries to tamp it down before he has to _do something_, like yell or flail around or something,to release all that crazy energy.

He's going to tell him tonight.

He tries, first, a couple of hours later.

After dinner, they all set up a bonfire outside. The mood, Glenn thinks, is appropriately festive. A little bit of alcohol gets passed around—even though things have been relatively quiet lately in terms of walkers, none of them think that it's a good idea to get hammered—and they spend the night telling stories and laughing. Fun is kind of a rare thing nowadays, and the whole group just _revels _in it, getting drunk more from the company than the wine.

Daryl is quiet as usual, but he's sitting there with his whole body relaxed and his smile bright and real, and the alcohol's pulling this deep, rough, Southern laughter out of him.

Christ. That laugh _does _things to him.

Hershel and Beth head inside first, and after that the party kind of breaks up until it's just Daryl and Glenn, sitting across from T-Dog and Maggie, who are sleeping—her head is on his shoulder, and his is resting on top of hers.

Glenn is sitting hunched forward with his forearms resting on his knees and the wine bottle clutched loosely in one hand. He glances over at Daryl, who's relaxed back in the chair, arms behind his head, looking up at the sky—but, just like earlier, once he senses Glenn's eyes on him, he ducks his head a little to look back.

Glenn takes a deep breath. It's now or never, and though he's really excited about getting things underway, he's also very nervous.

"Hey, Daryl? Can I talk to you about something?"

Daryl's eyes don't leave Glenn's—he kind of looks like he'd be content leaving them there forever. He nods.

So Glenn opens his mouth for another deep breath—and then Maggie stirs, enough to make T-Dog's head fall off of hers. He wakes with a jolt, leaving Glenn to curse under his breath.

"Some other time," he murmurs apologetically to Daryl, confidence shaken, as T-Dog and Maggie groan and stretch in their chairs across the fire.

Daryl nods and stands, climbing up to the top of the RV to take over watch duty from Jimmy as T-Dog, Glenn, and Maggie head inside to sleep.

The problem is, Glenn can't really sleep. He's too keyed up—he'd really thought tonight was the night and his mind and his body are both still on that track. He lies awake for a few hours, fidgeting, trying not to tap his feet against the floor so as not to wake anyone up.

He was _so close_, dammit.

Eventually, he decides that sleep is just not going to happen, and he gets up and creeps as quietly as possible out of the house. He stands on the porch a minute, watching Daryl sit on top of the RV in the distance.

He could go right now and have that conversation, out here at night in the cold, peaceful air under the clear sky, and no one would come to interrupt.

So he walks over there. His heart beats faster and faster as he goes, and his fingers twitch with his nerves, but he can't stop now—there's excitement building in him too, and he has too much momentum to ever think of stopping.

Daryl glances over at him as he walks around the RV.

"What do you want?" he asks, keeping his voice quiet even though they're far enough from the farmhouse that it seems like they're the only two people for miles. Even though his words seem a little rough, the way he says them is soft.

"Daryl," Glenn starts in response, looking up at Daryl's moonlit face, "can it be some other time now?"

He immediately regrets it, thinks it was a stupid, cheesy thing to say. Daryl huffs a short laugh and keeps smiling after it's over.

"Tell you what. Rick should be comin' out soon to take over watch. You go wait in my tent until then, then we can talk. Deal?"

"Yeah," Glenn says, and he turns around to go to the tent. He unzips the flap and steps carefully inside the space. There's a bedroll laid out on the floor with a sleeping bag over it, one of those heavy-duty ones meant for real survival. There are a few weapons and hunting tools and things like that strewn around, but other than that, everything else Daryl owns is contained in a small pack on the far side of the tent.

This is Daryl's living space. That sleeping bag, for all intents and purposes, is his bed. And Glenn is waiting in here, in what is essentially Daryl's bedroom, to tell Daryl that he loves him.

It feels exciting in a whole different way, now.

But he forces that down, because that's not what he came here for, and who _knows _how Daryl is really going to react to all of this? It's not going to do either of them any good if he's just all eager for sex.

He sits down on the ground away from the bedroll to wait.

It takes about a half hour, by Glenn's estimate, until Glenn can hear movement outside, which materializes into a muffled conversation between Rick and Daryl as Rick takes over watch, and then Daryl's light footsteps coming closer.

Then the tent flap is being unzipped, and it opens to let in Daryl, who steps inside, closes it behind him, and then looks at Glenn expectantly.

Meanwhile, Glenn is looking in shock up at Daryl's face, taking in the lines and curves of it, and he realizes—and this is honestly the stupidest time for such a realization—he realizes that they've never even kissed before. They've done _pretty much everything else_, and here they are—Daryl's already confessed _love_ and Glenn's literally just about to return that favor—and they've never kissed.

"Daryl," Glenn breathes, "can I just—can I try something, really quick? You can stop me if you want, I just—"

He cuts himself off and leans forward, getting up onto his knees to meet Daryl, who's still sort of crouching in front of the entrance to the tent, in their very first kiss. His eyes slide closed immediately, and he's captivated just by the very first sensations of their lips touching.

Daryl freezes up for just a moment, and Glenn waits to be pushed off, but then he relaxes into it and starts kissing back. It's—holy shit, it's perfect, actually—it reinforces everything Glenn already knew—and a swell of emotion rises up in his chest as he presses further into it. At first, it's just one long, slow, closed kiss, but then it turns into a series of open-mouthed ones—their lips fit together so that his own lower lip is receiving the attention of Daryl's whole mouth. Glenn feels like he's drowning in—in pleasure and that tingling feeling he's got going through his whole body.

After a few long, beautiful moments, Daryl's hands find their way to Glenn's head; his fingers curl around Glenn's ears and stay there for a moment. Then, Daryl breathes deeply in through his nose, flattens his hands against the sides of Glenn's face, and separates the two of them.

"Glenn," he says, and that's really, honestly the first time in memory that Daryl's said his real name. It should make Glenn happy, but Daryl's body has tensed up again and, even though his face is pointed at Glenn's, his eyes are cast downward. "Why are you doing this?" His eyes flicker back up then, like he needs them to search out the truth.

This is it.

"Daryl," Glenn whispers, reaching up to take Daryl's hands in his own. "I feel like such an asshole for everything I've done to you over the past several months, and I totally understand if you kick me out and don't ever want to see me again, but…"

He hesitates a little then, not because he doesn't mean what he's about to say with _everything he has_, but just because it's such a huge thing to put out there, and the uncertainty of what will happen afterward is scaring him a little. Or, more accurately, a lot.

He takes in a huge breath, squeezes Daryl's hands, and says it.

"I love you."

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**Thank you for reading, please review and let me know what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

**WAIT, hear me out. The reason I didn't update sooner is that I turned 21 last week, and I was very, very busy celebrating with my friends and family for several days. You can't possibly be mad at me for birthday festivities. Also, this chapter is longer than the rest! It's mostly sex, and the rest of it is feelings (there is also significant overlap of those two things).**

**So, I am both happy and sad to announce that this is, indeed, the last chapter of The Arrangement. I have a few ideas for _possible _sequels and/or stories that can be read as being in the same universe, but I make no promises. For now, just enjoy the final installment of The Arrangement, and I thank everyone so much for reading through to the end with me! Reviewers for last chapter are kaszz-chan, SparrowofTruth93, Neutral747, Kitty Bane, StrawberriCat, simplegay me, Arsenal Averson, and the ever-lovely writerchick0214, whose review was in PM form! Thank you all so much, I hope you love the final chapter!**

**(Last time on The Arrangement, in case you need a reminder, Glenn confessed his love to Daryl.)**

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Daryl's face falls a little and he looks sad and sort of confused. He sinks down onto his knees.

Glenn's heart clenches in his chest, because he's horribly misjudged the situation and Daryl doesn't really want to be with him.

But then Daryl opens his mouth and breathes in to speak. It takes him a second. He doesn't move at all, not to look away or to remove his hands from Glenn's grip, but he does end up whispering, "No, you don't."

"But—Daryl, I—"

"You tryin' to tell me that after all the time you spent tellin' me you didn't fuckin' know, suddenly, after _all this time_, you do? After we haven't done anything in months? You ain't even known if you were _gay_." He's agitated now, trying to keep quiet in case Rick can hear, but it's difficult and his breathing is coming faster and his face is twisted up into an expression of bewilderment, anger, and hurt.

"Daryl, Daryl, please," Glenn murmurs, stroking his thumbs over the backs of Daryl's broad hands. "I know I've been stupid, and it took me way longer than it should have, but there's no doubt in my mind anymore about the way I feel."

Daryl stays quiet—he's in no way calm, but he waits for Glenn's explanation.

"It didn't take me long," Glenn says, voice haggard with emotion, "to figure out how attracted to you I was. Once I just let myself _feel_…" He pauses here, cheeks flushed with embarrassment over the exact method of self-discovery involved. "Once I let myself feel, without thinking, it was really clear to me. But you'd just confessed your love to me, and I didn't want—I didn't think I felt the same. So I let it go, because I didn't want to hurt you. But… last month, that day when we went on the supply run for Judy, and that walker almost got you…" He raises his eyebrows expectantly and Daryl nods in recognition.

"Daryl, it wasn't just that I wanted to save you—I had to. I absolutely had to. There was no rationality behind any of that. It was straight-up emotion. It was like something _came over me_—and that's when I knew."

Daryl just stares at him for a few seconds, looking less upset, but kind of stricken, and then he whispers, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was scared?" Glenn offered, chuckling weakly. "I told you I've been stupid. And an asshole."

Daryl smiles then, miraculously. "I ain't arguin' with that."

He takes his hands back and puts them instead on either side of Glenn's face and just watches him for a few seconds while Glenn's heart flutters.

He leans in and presses a kiss on Glenn's mouth, and lets it linger there. When he pulls back, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Glenn's. "Are you sure?" he whispers raggedly, looking pained like he's waiting for a no.

So Glenn traces his fingers over Daryl's eyelids until they open and they make eye contact.

"I am absolutely sure," Glenn says, leaning in for another kiss, and this time, they don't stop. It starts off as innocently as possible, just one chaste kiss after another, but then they deepen and Daryl's tongue begins to sweep softly at Glenn's lips, then into his mouth. Glenn gasps a little and then reciprocates, and the feeling of it shoots straight down between his legs. He finds himself grasping the front of Daryl's shirt, pulling him closer, _desperate to be closer_.

Daryl responds in kind, his breaths moving in and out of him sounding strained, his large hands pressed against the small of Glenn's back in a way that speaks of overwhelming need.

Glenn's finally had enough. He's achingly hard, and they're kneeling with their thighs slotted together, so he can tell Daryl is, too, and that makes him fucking _dizzy_ and warm. So he leans back, using his grip on Daryl's shirt to keep them connected, until he's flat on his back, half on top of the sleeping bag. He stretches his legs out and lifts his hips up to rub against Daryl a little. The feeling makes him groan.

Daryl breaks the kiss, panting heavily, letting his head rest in the crook of Glenn's neck. He asks roughly, "What do you want to do?"

Glenn grins widely, murmuring against the curve of Daryl's ear, "I seem to remember our last encounter being interrupted."

Daryl lifts his head up to look at Glenn's face, smiling apologetically—he takes in a little bit at a time, his gaze flickering from his nose to his lips, back up to the soft lines of his brow and down to his jaw, then up to his eyes again.

"You sure?"

Glenn just nods, running his hands over Daryl's thick biceps.

So Daryl kisses him again, gentler this time, moving his hands down to the hem of Glenn's t-shirt. He pulls back and tugs the shirt off. As soon as he's bare-chested, Glenn, hair mussed, gets to work on Daryl's buttons to even out the score.

"There we go," he says as soon as the shirt is off, letting his hands roam over the bare expanse of skin. "I haven't seen your arms in months. Didn't seem right." He remembers the little scar he felt on Daryl's hip before, when they had sex in that clearing, and he revisits it, feeling the ridge of it. Then he moves up to where the bolt lodged itself in Daryl's side, back when they were looking for Sophia still, and he covers both sides of it with his hand, feeling it out in the darkness.

Daryl smiles shyly, the same way Glenn's seen him do probably hundreds of times, and moves down the length of Glenn's body slowly. He hovers over the button of his pants, stops for a second, then reaches out toward the pack on the other side of the tent. He manages to get it with the tips of his fingers and drags it over, reaching in one of the pockets and rummaging around until he pulls out the bottle of lube. He sets it down carefully on the floor and turns back to Glenn, reaching out to pop the button effortlessly.

Daryl curls his fingers into the waistband of Glenn's jeans and underwear and tugs, letting the zipper open by itself, and he gradually works them down to mid-thigh. Glenn's erection, when released from the confines of his boxer-briefs, bounces out into the open air and hits his belly. Daryl just stops and looks for a moment, admiring the view, absently rubbing Glenn's thigh and hip in wide motions.

Glenn just cannot even believe this is happening. He's mostly naked in front of Daryl, _Daryl with the sexy arms_ who just oozes maleness, Daryl who makes his heart do ridiculous dances in his chest, and that look he's getting is nothing short of reverent. He _knows_, of course, that Daryl loves him, but seeing that love, seeing the reaction Daryl's having to his body, to his presence, is different. A pleased flush spreads out over his face and down his neck.

He reaches for the button of Daryl's pants and opens them up, sliding the zipper down. Daryl's wearing what appears to be a pair of blue briefs underneath, and the sight of the bulge inside them, visible in the V of the undone zipper, knocks the breath out of Glenn.

Daryl stops him there by grabbing hold of Glenn's waistband again and pulling the jeans and underwear all the way off, casually dumping them to one side. He stands up as much as he can in the low tent and finishes the job, stepping out of his pants.

Dear god, how did Glenn _not know _that he was attracted to this? Daryl's body is both slim and muscular. He's broad without being bulky, and it's that combination—sleekness and _masculinity_—that has him so intoxicated, so unbelievably hot. No girl ever made him feel like this, not in the same_ league _as this, _ever ever_. And his cock, now that Glenn is taking the time to actually look at it, is long and dark, curving up toward his stomach. It's beautiful.

Daryl gets on his knees again, between Glenn's legs, and bends down, hooking one hand behind a knee and using the other to stroke the thin, sensitive skin where leg meets hip. Glenn gasps at this, and Daryl puts his face in that same spot on the other side, nuzzling against it. Glenn's gasp changes into a moan and he writhes.

"Ready to start?" Daryl murmurs into his crotch.

Holy _shit_.

"Yeah," Glenn manages to choke out, closing his eyes. The warmth of Daryl's face is gone, and then the sound of a cap popping open fills the tent. Seconds later, Glenn feels cold, slick fingers contact the underside of his balls and he twitches, shocked by the sensation.

"Shh," Daryl hushes through a grin. Now that Glenn's eyes are open again, he can see the slow movements leading Daryl's hand back, and it's not quite so startling when the fingers touch him again, sliding farther down. Glenn pulls up his knees and plants his feet on the floor to provide easier access.

"I know you ain't ever done this before," Daryl says then with two fingertips pressed gently against Glenn's entrance, "so are you sure you're ready for this?" It's such a strange sensation, because no one's ever _touched _him therebefore. He can hardly focus on Daryl's words.

"Uh huh. I'm ready."

So Daryl leans down and kisses Glenn again, full on the mouth, as he pushes one finger inside. Glenn arches his back and throws his arms around Daryl, just barely managing not to break the contact between their lips. It hurts a little bit, but mostly at this point it just feels weird, _so weird _he almost can't stand it. His body is resisting it and so Daryl leaves his finger where it is for the moment until he slowly relaxes.

"That's right," Daryl mumbles encouragingly against Glenn's lips, eyes hooded like he's intoxicated by Glenn, by this whole thing.

He pushes the finger in farther.

Glenn screws up his face and lets out an, "Ah!" of pain and surprise.

"Hey, shh." Daryl brushes a piece of hair off of Glenn's forehead where it was stuck with sweat. "You gotta kinda… bear down on it."

"What the hell does that mean?" Glenn wheezes, even as he does it, which makes Daryl chuckle into his collarbone.

"There ya go."

After a few seconds, the movement inside of him starts to feel _good _rather than painful or strange, and all he can do is hold on for dear life and pant and squirm. When a second finger is added, he hisses a little bit, but adjusts quickly, and it feels even _better _after a few seconds—and then everything in Glenn's brain comes to a screeching halt when the pads of Daryl's fingers brush over what really must be _that spot_. His whole body jerks and out of his mouth comes an abrupt but _loud _noise. Even though it was just a quick thing, he shoves his wrist into his mouth and bites down anyway, because _hopefully _there is more of that to come and he doesn't want to alert Rick to what they're doing in here.

There _is _more, as Daryl proves with a smirk, and Glenn sobs as quietly as he can into the skin of his wrist because it's so overwhelming, it's just _too much sensation_. Daryl takes pity on him after a few exquisite strokes and pulls mostly out, preferring to run his fingers with a persistent, firm press in circles along the rim.

"I think I gotta do a third finger," he says, "bein' that you've never done this before."

Glenn nods, closing his eyes and shifting a little, trying to relax.

"Hey, hey," Daryl speaks insistently, using his other hand to jostle at Glenn's hip until Glenn opens his eyes again to look at him. "You wanna stop, anytime, you tell me, alright?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Glenn promises, reaching up to frame Daryl's face with his hands reassuringly, instantly calmed by his own need to see Daryl's nerves and insecurities disappear. "I want this, Daryl."

He gets a skeptical look in return, so he lifts himself up a little and pulls Daryl's face down the rest of the way to meet him in a kiss. He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingers in, trying to convey everything he feels through this contact. A few seconds into the kiss, Daryl starts to respond. It's not long before it becomes heated and Glenn is harder than ever, his arms now thrown loosely over Daryl's shoulders, panting into his neck after they break apart. His dick is sliding against Daryl's stomach with every breath and their legs are tangled together. The feeling of bare skin against his makes him weak.

"_Please_, Daryl."

So Daryl hurriedly pulls back and rewets his fingers with more lube, managing to calm himself down in time to be gentle about pushing his first two fingers in again. Glenn bites back a moan, arching his back and curling his hands around Daryl's shoulders.

"Alright, alright," Daryl murmurs soothingly, pressing that last digit against Glenn's entrance, letting it linger there for a few moments, applying a little bit of pressure. "Here goes." He works it in next to the other two, slowly but surely. He curls all of them together, rubbing them against Glenn's prostate until Glenn, squirming there on the floor of the tent, sees fucking stars. He makes devastated noises with his mouth, trying as much as he can through the distraction of the fierce pleasure to keep them quiet.

Daryl keeps it up, stroking inside of him, for what feels like forever and Glenn is wound up so tight, strung out, trying to catch his breath, and his muscles taut and twitching. He cracks open an eye and watches Daryl's face—his eyes are still half-lidded, he's staring at Glenn, letting his eyes roam a little—but mostly they're glued to the spot where they're joined, where his fingers are inside of Glenn, and he's got a little pleased smile on his face. He's _teasing_.

"Ohh, _god_, Daryl," Glenn breathes. "Please, please, I think I'm ready."

"Mkay," Daryl says, pulling his fingers out, leaning over to give Glenn's stomach a kiss right below his navel as he strokes a hand over Glenn's ass. He leans back to grab at the pack again and takes a little more time finding what he needs, digging down to the bottom and grumbling when he doesn't immediately find it.

Eventually he pulls out a little square package and brings it over, tearing it open and hastily removing the condom inside.

He rolls it on himself, carefully, bracing one hand on the floor next to Glenn's hip as he does so. Then he sits back on his heels and takes hold of each of Glenn's legs, pulling him closer as he spreads them apart to settle comfortably right where they meet. Daryl moves his hips so that his cock, sheathed in the condom, rubs delicately up against Glenn's, smearing a trail of lube. He doesn't let his gaze wander from Glenn for a second. Glenn is panting and squirming under him, palms pressed down flat on the floor.

Daryl lets go of one pale leg to grab hold of his dick and position it, and then he begins to push inside, using his hand to keep it steady.

Glenn groans, scrunching up his face as Daryl enters him. It hurts, much like it did when that first finger entered him, but a little more severe. Because—Daryl is pretty big. It's kind of overwhelming, having that girth stretching him out—he's never felt anything like it. But the burn of pleasure is still present, and so he tells himself to hold on. If his previous experience with those _gorgeous _fingers is any indication, at some point it'll start to feel better.

Daryl keeps going, slow and steady, gauging Glenn's reaction as he works himself in further and finding no reason to stop altogether. He still whispers, concern evident in his voice, "Tell me to stop and I will, just say the word, okay?" Glenn merely blows out a breath and nods.

Finally, Daryl is fully seated. Carefully, he lifts off of his heels and stretches his legs out behind him, pressing the full length of his body to Glenn's. He buries his face in the crook of Glenn's neck and exhales shakily. Here, inside of Glenn, with his face hidden and their bodies touching, he finds the ability to whisper the words that he's never actually said.

"I love you." His warm breath bursts against Glenn's skin. Glenn throws his arms lazily around him, still trying to adjust to the sensation of being stretched and filled.

"I love you too."

Daryl makes a scoffing sound that is sort of like bewildered disbelief and nuzzles—he's kind of a nuzzler, Glenn notices—up behind his ear.

"If you're ready, I think I'm gonna start movin' now, alright? I promise, it gets better once you start movin'."

"Yeah, okay."

So Daryl does—he pulls out almost all the way and sets to work with slow, deep strokes, pushing himself up a little so he hovers above Glenn's body, giving him more leverage. It takes about three of these before the pain subsides and _Daryl is so right_, it's so much better. His body twitches with the effort not to move.

"You don't have to stay so still or nothin'," Daryl tells him softly, still thrusting as he leans heavily on one hand so he can use the other to wipe the hair off of Glenn's sweat-slicked forehead. Glenn follows the hand with his head, unwilling to give up the contact. Daryl humors him, cupping the side of his face. The next thrust is particularly good, a little deeper than the rest, and so Glenn gasps and takes Daryl's advice, wrapping his legs around Daryl's waist and squeezing. He needs that again.

"Perfect," Daryl breathes as Glenn arches his back. After that his breaths become deeper and more ragged and his thrusting less careful—he stays in deep but doesn't pull as far out every time and they start speeding up, just a little at a time.

Glenn finds that it's not only the movement inside of him that feels so good—that's most of it, yes—but also the pressure of their bodies pushed together and the friction of Daryl's stomach sliding against his cock and his balls, lighting the sensitive flesh on fire. He starts returning by rolling his own hips in time with Daryl's and the muscles of his ass clench involuntarily.

Daryl groans too loudly, caught off guard by the spike of pleasure, and he removes his hand from Glenn's face to stroke it over his nipple instead, speeding up his movements.

"_Uhn_, oh, Daryl," Glenn whispers, reveling in the electricity of that touch. His hips move mindlessly as he arches into Daryl's touch.

It doesn't take long before they're both too close, too frantic, to do anything but close their eyes and thrust, faster and faster. Glenn is almost too caught up in the sensation for conscious thought, but he manages enough to be able to _need _more, to _need _release. He squeezes his legs tighter, pulling Daryl flush against him by the shoulders, biting down on Daryl's earlobe and then pressing his nose into the little dip just behind his ear.

"Daryl, I'm close, I need—"

Daryl wordlessly slips his hand between them, taking hold of Glenn's dick and pumping it, deliciously slow.

Glenn is very, very close now, building up to what's promising to be the most amazing orgasm he thinks he'll ever have. He sobs into Daryl's neck just as his movements start to become erratic and seconds later, he's coming hard, squirting into the space between them. It's already smearing on both of their stomachs a second after _that_ when Daryl stops thrusting and his body jerks roughly and unrhythmically instead. He lets out a low grunt, squeezing his eyes closed and letting his mouth fall open—after a moment of tense stillness, his body relaxes and he just manages to pull out before collapsing to the side, landing half on and half off of a very dazed Glenn.

Tiredly, he turns his head and places a dry kiss against Glenn's shoulder.

Glenn just lets himself come down from his high, unable to be too engaged in thought.

After a few minutes, Daryl pushes himself up and reaches into the pack again, pulling out what seems to be the first thing he touches—just a folded wife beater—and he uses it to wipe down first Glenn's stomach, then his own. He tosses it aside lazily and then reaches under Glenn's legs and waist to lift him slightly, moving him so that he's lying fully on the sleeping bag instead of half-sideways like he was. Glenn reaches out and guides Daryl down next to him by the back of his neck, scooting over so that they both can squeeze on top of the bedroll. Daryl wraps his arms around Glenn's waist and puts his forehead on Glenn's cheek.

Glenn can feel tension creep into Daryl's arms, and when he turns his head, Daryl's eyes are open and his face is serious and closed off—but there's still heartbreaking uncertainty there. Glenn frowns, reaching up to gently scratch his fingers over Daryl's scalp.

Knowing Daryl's background, knowing the way his father, mother, and brother have treated him and the discrepancy between his idea of his own self worth and how wonderful he actually is, Glenn can guess the problem.

"Do you want to know why I love you?" he whispers, looking into Daryl's eyes. Daryl stays silent but his face opens a little more and he looks like he is desperate to know, to end his confusion and insecurity.

Glenn grins at him and begins: "I love your eyes," he says, "and your lips, and your arms, and your dick, and all the rest of your body. I love your voice, and I love that you're shy. You bring in food for the group, and you don't have to—you love those people. You loved Sophia. You're impressively talented at shooting and hunting, and carving. You stayed friends with me even though I hurt you. You… _put up _with me. You got shot with your own arrow and fell down a ravine, twice, and you managed to find your way back to the farm. You're so determined. You never let anyone bring you down. You're true to who you are."

Daryl looks shocked, so Glenn plants a soft kiss on his lips.

"It's because of _you_, Daryl. You have to believe that I love you."

Daryl nods, slowly, and then a smile spreads onto his face.

"You wanna hear about why I love you?" he asks, his eyes lingering down on Glenn's chin.

"Yeah, why?" Glenn asks.

So Daryl exaggeratedly settles onto his back to tell him exactly why he loves him ("Gotta get comfortable," he says, "we might be here for hours"), and Glenn takes his hand and plays with his fingers while he listens. He's captivated by the words and by Daryl himself. They stay up late, past the point when they get too cold and have to get dressed again and unfold the sleeping bag so they can both settle underneath it, past the point when Daryl gets sidetracked in his list of the things he loves about Glenn when Glenn kisses him hard on the mouth.

They fall asleep in the early hours of the morning huddled together, and when they wake up a few hours later to the sounds of the farm just beginning to stir, nothing has changed between them. Glenn wants to stay wrapped up in Daryl all day. Watching Daryl's eyelashes flutter as he wakes, Glenn marvels at the way things have ended up; months ago, he was confused, stringing Daryl along to try to make sense of things at the end of the world—but now, he's never been so sure of anything in his entire life. They _belong _together.

It's kind of funny. If not for the disease that took over the rest of humanity and that ended everything they previously knew, maybe they never would have met. Glenn remembers that conversation they had, forever ago, when Daryl explained to him that he'd already given up on love and Glenn felt so uneasy—guilty, he thinks now, guilty that Daryl wanted someone to love and Glenn was just an idiot questioning his sexuality.

They're lucky to have found each other in this horrifying new world. Glenn knows that soon, they'll have to leave the haven that is Daryl's tent and face the group—and who _knows _how that will go down—they're in the middle of Georgia, after all—so for now, he pulls Daryl closer and cuddles against his side, reveling in the knowledge that he has someone with him to take on life in the apocalypse together.


End file.
